#this one is short so the next chap is going up too

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 3 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter three!!!! this chapter did NOT go the way i thought it would, but i promise we're getting to the whole simon groveling and begging and all that lovely stuff soon - i just cant seem to stop writing these two FIGHTING! as always, if you want to be added to the tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,208 chapter two masterlist ao3 link

You were in a forest, surrounded by pines. Snow was drifting down slowly, coating the needles around you in light flakes before they melted from the heat of your breath as you stared up at the grey sky. You felt… at peace, for the first time in a long time. You were wrapped securely in the knotted roots of one of the pine trees as they wrapped themselves over and between the straps of your tactical vest, the wood gently resting against a sticky scarlet mark where your heart was supposed to be. You turned your head as much as the roots would allow, and you could see flames in the distance of the forest, a cacophony of gunshots and explosions ricocheting through your ears as the scent of smoking pine and wet gunpowder reaches your nostrils-

You woke up with a start, a gasp of air drawing through your dry, chapped lips sharply, the movement causing your aching ribs to spasm in a coughing fit. Your hands flew up to your chest to check for the wound that you were so convinced would be there, only to be met with the soft, warm, flesh of a massive tattooed bicep that was flung across your chest. But the everpresent scent of smoked pine, wet gunpowder, and a freshly-lit cigarette was still burned into your nostrils.

It was just a dream.

You blinked a few times, the light filtering through the blinds too bright for your blurry eyes to handle. You tried to lift your head, to move, but your body felt far too heavy and sluggish. You were reduced to your basest of instincts - you felt better than you had in months, but it felt like your omega side had completely overridden your logical one. You tried again to speak, to move, anything, but all that came out from your too-dry mouth was a cracking, reedy omega whine.

That made the heavy arm that was draped over your chest move. It quickly lifted off of you, the bed that you were laying on dipping and shifting like sand underfoot as the massive bulk next to you moved. You flinched slightly as rough fingertips gently touched your cheek, the image of Simon’s face swimming above you as a look of concern furrowed his brow. Oh. That would explain why that scent was swimming around you. If you two had been in a normal, healthy mating bond, it probably would have been easier to recognize. But after the months of distance, and neglect, you had forgotten your own alpha’s scent.

You felt it as your own face morphed into a matching expression. Where were you? Why is Simon here? What the fuck happened? You opened your mouth to say something scathing, the words nipping at the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak, the back of Simon’s hand traced down your cheek, almost reverent in his guilt.

“Shh, shh, love. You’re okay, you’re okay. ‘M ‘ere. Just don’t… don’t move, okay? I’ve got some water here for ya-” his voice broke off as he twisted his torso, keeping one hand securely under your head while the other grabbed a white styrofoam cup with a bright white plastic straw sticking up from the lid and brought it back over to the bed. You had to fight to keep your expression neutral, as the sight of the sterile-looking aerated plastic and the very thought of drinking the disgusting water contained inside made your stomach dip in disgust.

Simon could have cried when he felt your disgust through the bond, the cavernous darkness that had shrouded you from him in his mind finally lifting enough to allow him to feel you again. However, that didn’t stop your feeling of disgust, even if it was directed at the apparently devil-like cup in his hands and not at him, from lodging into his chest like the blade of a knife. He winced and quickly moved the cup away from you, frantically looking around his quarters for some other source of water. When he didn’t find one, a short curse fell from his lips as he glanced back at you sympathetically, regret and guilt shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I- I just grabbed this from medbay… there’s some vitamins and electrolytes and whatever else you combat medics throw in it, and I figured that that would help since, you know, you’ve been asleep for three days.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Three days? Three days!? You could vomit, and you probably would have if there had been anything in your stomach.

Simon sighed, screwing his eyes shut as he realized that was probably not the best way to tell you that information. He brought his hand - the one still holding that damn cup - up to his face, rubbing his eyes with the back of his thumb. Gods, he sucked at this. He ran his hand down his face and moved to get up from the bed. “I’ll just… yeah, I’ll just go get you some, um, different water in a different glass and… yeah, I’ll be right back.”

As he moved to get up from the bed, your hand weakly shot out, your fingers feebly wrapping around his wrist. Simon glanced down at your hand in thinly-veiled shock before he looked at you. You were just as shocked. You were still angry, at least, you knew you should be, but the only thing you could focus on was the way your omega writhed in pain at the mere thought of Simon walking away from you again.

“You need to drink some water. And if you won’t drink it out of this,” he said as he raised the cup, “then I gotta get you something else.”

You looked up at him pleadingly, an absolutely pathetic look on your face. You didn’t have the strength or energy to fight against the instincts right now. Everything in you was screaming and clawing at the idea of Simon leaving, even just to get you more water, and your instincts didn’t care about how it looked, or if it made you seem like you forgave him and were willing to forget everything that happened. You knew, logically, that you weren’t, but logic was so far out of the realm of control, the only thing reacting in your mind was your wounded omega, desperate for the proximity of her alpha.

“I don’t wanna force you to drink this if it grosses you out that bad.”

Another needy, desperate whine was his only response as you let go of his wrist, your shaking hand held outstretched to take the cup. It was a clear message - I’ll drink it. Just don’t leave.

Simon’s gaze softened as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, bringing the straw close to your lips. You closed your eyes, the moment feeling far too intimate for the reality of your relationship with Simon as your dry, chapped lips wrapped around the plastic of the straw. After a few moments of forcing down the polluted-dirt tasting water, Simon slowly and gently pulled the straw away from you, his free hand coming up to your face to brush an errant strand of your hair behind your ear. His heart ached as your eyes fluttered open, still cold and guarded even as he could feel your omega pleading for him to stay through the bond.

“Feel better?”

You nodded slowly, the movement disjointed and sluggish as you brought a shaking hand up to wipe a small droplet of water off of your lips. “Yeah,” you muttered, the words thick and gruff with disuse. The thanks that should have followed that response stayed stuck in your throat like a pill that was much too big to swallow.

Simon nodded in response as he sat the cup back down on the bedside table. He then grabbed a wrapped protein bar, and tore open the packaging with his teeth. With the unwrapped protein bar in hand, he turned back to you, holding the bar near your face. “Eat.”

A pause, a short breath leaving Simon’s lips as he realized that a demand was probably not the best way to get you to do something at the moment.

“Please,” he amended, his voice softer, gentler. “You need to get your strength up,” he added, shifting the bar a little closer to your lips.

You knew he was right, ultimately, but it wounded your ego, accepting his help after all of the neglect he had put you through. You sighed softly and shifted on the bed with a groan as your muscles protested against the tiniest of movements. Simon’s hand quickly wrapped around your aching shoulder to help shift you on to your side, and you settled back down into the bed, lifting your head up slightly to take a small bite out of the protein bar. You figured it would be impossible to swallow, as all food had been the last few months, but you were shocked to find it easy to get down. You sat up slowly, achingly, agonizingly slowly, but Simon, shockingly, was there to support you. You reached out and took the bar from him, suddenly ravenous.

Simon watched as you all but scarfed down the protein bar, his gaze softening with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his now-empty hands. He hated himself, the guilt and regret of being so blind to you throughout the entirety of your marriage, your mating bond, eating him alive.

You froze, mid-chew of the last bite as you heard his murmured apology. You didn’t know how to respond, feeling like a deer in the headlights of his sin.

“Simon…”

“No, I… I am. Gods, angel, you have no idea how sorry I am. I was such a dick to you, such a bad fuckin’ alpha, and I know that my words probably don’t mean much, or, really, anything to you, but… if I could reverse time, do it all over again, I…”

“Simon, stop,” you croaked out, your gaze fixated on the comforter that pooled against your sweatpant-clad legs, anything to keep your eyes off of him. You couldn’t look at him. It was all too much, far too quickly, and you had nowhere to even begin to parse through the emotions and pain that still existed under your skin like a thrashing beast, even if it felt more subdued than it did three days ago. You didn’t want to think too hard on that, though, wanted to ignore the way your alpha’s presence, his scent calmed the ugly thing, if only slightly.

You couldn’t - wouldn’t - forgive him. Not right now. Sure, he had kept one promise; he had stayed with you, but in the grand scheme of things? It didn’t mean much. You smoothed your hand over the soft comforter, balling the now-empty wrapper of the protein bar in your other hand. Too many emotions, too little time. You felt like you were trapped between your base omega desires and the reality of your situation. The wrapper crinkled in your hand louder as your grip became tighter, the atrophied muscles in your arms shaking with exertion and emotion.

You felt Simon’s hand as it inched closer to you, more than likely to try and bring you comfort, but you couldn’t take it. Right before his hand touched yours, you jerked it away, throwing the wrapper into some random corner of his room in your panic. You quickly scrambled out of the bed, your need to get away from him, from the situation, much greater than any of the aches and pains of your neglected body. You stood in the center of the room, your chest heaving from the exertion as you steadied yourself on your feet, your legs wobbling beneath you.

Simon just stared at you, wide-eyed and frozen.

You stared right back. Your mind was a mess, fractured between your omega and your logical, rational side. Your omega was screaming, tearing at the confines of your skin at the very idea of leaving your alpha, but you pushed it away. You felt cornered, and you were lashing out like a feral cat.

“I- I gotta go.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, and all but ran out of the room. Simon was still sitting on the edge of the bed, shellshocked and staring at the space in the center of his quarters that you were just occupying.

–

It had been about a week since you had left Simon’s quarters. That first day, after you had left, you were violent, volatile - your own quarters destroyed as you tried to release all of the pent-up emotions by throwing anything and everything you could get your hands on before you collapsed into little more than a heap of tears in the middle of all of the broken glass and ripped papers. You had slept there that night, on your floor, but when you woke up, there was one of Simon’s sweatshirts outside of the door of your quarters with a note.

I know you don’t want to see me right now. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But the bond is still fragile. Just keep this around, please? -Simon

Part of you wanted to burn it, still so full of rage and pain, but the desperation of your omega had you pressing your face into the soft, plush fabric, a small omega purr unconsciously pulling past your lips. As soon as the sound of your purr reached your ears, you threw the article of clothing onto the ground as if it was a ticking incendiary bomb. It was still there, in that corner, but it cursed the entirety of your quarters to smell like Simon, the scent of smokey pine, wet gunpowder, and the first drag of a cigarette cloying to everything, no matter how many of your own clothes you piled on top of it.

The rest of that week had passed by you like a blur. You had mostly stayed in your quarters, focusing on how to control and push down your omega desires, instead replacing them with the rage you knew you should feel towards Simon, definitely not because it was the only place that you could still smell him, certainly not. It was just that the thought of being seen out and about when your emotions and physical health were so volatile seemed like it wouldn’t be the best of ideas, and that was definitely the only reason.

But, today was the first day that you had actually gotten up and took a shower. Looking in the mirror, you noticed that your skin looked much more lively, the sickly grey of the bond sickness had dissipated, and the bruises that had covered your skin had all but faded away. It made you feel… wrong almost, to be, to look, “fixed”. The torment that you had undergone still lived and breathed in your very bones, and seeing yourself without the physical marks of it, even if they were self-inflicted, felt wrong. So, you quickly tugged on some workout gear, grabbed your keys, and left your quarters, determined to make someone pay for the grief and rage that thrummed under your skin.

You dumped your keys and your sweatshirt in a corner by the sparring ring, stretching for a moment as you scanned the gym. Plenty of people to spar with, but, more importantly, no Simon. And, before you knew it, an unsuspecting, far too cocky beta recruit was swaggering up to you. He was new to the base, you could tell. Fresh out of basic training, by the looks of it. You pushed a smirk down off of your lips, as you wanted the challenge. Wanted him to fuck up just so you could absolutely let loose. You batted your eyelashes up at him, really playing into the whole weak omega stereotype.

You ran your gaze up and down the recruit, sinking your teeth into your plush lower lip. You watched as the recruit’s eyes lit up at your actions, obviously taking them as flirtatious. Meanwhile, all you had wanted to do was knock him off his axis, get him thinking hazy.

The recruit smirked, rubbing his hands together. “Name’s Conwell. James Conwell. Need a sparring partner?”

You grinned up at him, the expression so fake and sickly-sweet as you leaned towards him slightly, clasping your hands in front of you. If it pushed your tits together, what was the harm in that?

“Oh, yeah, James, that’d be great! I might need a few pointers though. You okay with that?” The grin that the recruit gave you was downright predatory as he nodded and slipped between the ropes, bouncing around and shadowboxing, obviously trying to show off. You quickly stifled a laugh behind your hand, clearing your throat before you slipped between the ropes as well. Gods, new recruits, especially new beta recruits, were such easy marks. They always had such a chip on their shoulder, desperate to prove themselves, and certainly not above pretending to be something they weren’t to do so. And as you settled into your side of the ring, you could smell just how desperate this recruit was to be something he wasn’t.

He had sprayed fake alpha pheromones on himself. The scent was nauseating, making your stomach roll. But, you pushed it down. You’d play the part, let him get one or two good hits in, then it would be game over for the poor boy.

“How do I start this?” You asked innocently, looking down at the smooth vinyl that coated the floor of the ring. The beta’s (Jim?) grin widened as he sunk into his own fighting stance.

“Just like this, pretty girl.”

You suppressed a disgusted shudder at his words, painting that saccharine faux-innocence on your expression as you pretended to copy him, sinking into your own stance. Yours was a much stronger base, your legs spread wider to better accommodate your movement, your fists actually tucked up to your face as protection, unlike the way the beta kept his hands low over his bare chest, obviously believing the lie that you were no threat.

“You should probably swing first, you know, show an omega like me how an alpha does it.”

That did it. His eyes glinted with that repulsive possessiveness that every douchebag gets when you stroke their ego just right, when you pretend to believe a lie that they’ve tried so hard to force to be truth. And so he did, but it arched wide, giving you the perfect opportunity to dodge under and land a jab right in the left side of his ribs. You popped up, a glee-filled smile on your lips, genuine this time, as you looked at him as he gasped for air, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

He blinked, bewildered, as his head swiveled from side to side in an effort to find where you went. Once his eyes zeroed in on you, his lips pressed into a thin, angry smile, the kind that someone would give an annoying child after they spilt their snack for the third time in a row. “Wow, quick learner, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess!” Your words were bright, your eyes filled with a predatory glint that you tried to hide as you beckoned him tauntingly. “C’mon! That was fun!”

The beta growled in a terrible impression of an alpha rumble, swinging out in the exact same way. It forced you to wonder what the fuck they were teaching these kids in basic training nowadays. The velocity of this punch was slow, and you knew you had to let him get at least one punch in if you wanted this to last any longer than a few minutes before he stormed off with his tail tucked between his legs in embarrassment. Normally, you would have braced yourself for a hit that you knew was coming, but something else hit you before the punch could. Smoked pine. Wet gunpowder. First hit of a cigarette after a stressful mission. It pulled your attention just long enough to allow the beta’s punch to land squarely in your ribs, the force of the impact much greater than the velocity, which promptly knocked all of the air from your lungs. You stumbled back a little, but you forced your gaze to stay on your opponent, not allowing yourself to get distracted by the pheromones that had settled over you like an oppressive coat.

That was, until, you heard an actual alpha growl emanating from the door of the gym. It was so loud, so full of anger, that it caused everyone to stop what they were doing. You rolled your eyes, shaking out your shoulders as you sank back down into your fighting stance, but your opponent was frozen, his hands dropped as he turned to look at where the growl had come from. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was staring at. You sighed, your head dropping as you saw Simon’s long, purposeful strides carrying his massive bulk up to the ring. You heard your opponent get pulled from the ring, and before you knew it, Simon was in front of you, lifting your head up with gentle fingers.

“Did he hurt-”

You forcefully knocked his hand off of your chin, your eyes hardening. A small omega growl ripped past your lips as they curled up in displeasure. “Oh my gods, fuck off! We were just sparring!”

Simon’s gaze darkened as he looked down at you, but he, thankfully, didn’t touch you again. “You smell like fuckin’ shit. What, fake pheromones are what does it for ya now, huh?”

Your growl increased in volume as you shoved against his chest. The anger, pain, and guilt that swam between the two of you was almost tangible, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. You didn’t care. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about what ‘does it for me’,” you mocked as you put sarcastic air quotes around the repeated words.

Most of the gym had cleared out by now. Everyone knew how volatile the two of you could be separately, and when they sensed the heightened anger and emotions between you two, they quickly disappeared. For the few stragglers that were left, Simon fixed them with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean, and they quickly packed their things and also scurried away.

“You wanna fucking punch something?” Simon growled as he took a step closer to you. “Punch me. Not some stupid prick tryna peacock around as if he’s an alpha. You fuckin’ smell like that shit ass cologne he was trying to pass off as his own.”

A downright predatory grin spread over your lips. You were pissed. Pissed that he was here, that he had taken away the one outlet that you knew you had to work through all of these emotions. So, you bit back. You knew you were playing with fire. It was one thing you were always good at, part of the reason the team, especially Simon, called you spitfire.

“Oh, is that what that was? It smelled so good, I thought it was real.”

You were lying, and the smirk that spread over Simon’s lips confirmed that he knew it too. You shook your head, blowing out a frustrated breath as you moved to step around Simon. You didn’t want to be around him right now. His hand shot out to grab at your wrist, but you jerked it away from him.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” you bit out as your teeth ground together. “I didn’t need you to come save me, and you had no right to storm in here like this.”

“No right?” Simon seethed lowly as he turned his head to look at you. “No right? Pretty sure that’s my fucking teeth marking that mating gland right there on the side of your neck!”

You froze, slowly turning to fully face him now. Your expression was set into a mask of absolute, unbridled rage that Simon had never been on the receiving end of. Your fists were clenched impossibly tight at your sides, and you could feel the anger rolling off of you in hot, tangible waves. You had known Simon didn’t know how to be a mate, but you had never imagined that this is the way he would deem acceptable to treat you. No matter what, you were a soldier first, more than capable of taking care of yourself, you didn’t need him breathing down your neck like some sort of denmother. It almost seemed like he was trying to overcorrect from his mistakes, becoming overbearing and overprotective. That almost pissed you off more.

“If that is how you think this bond is going to go, especially after everything you did, I will cut this mating bond out myself. Do not test me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. With that, you stepped off of the mat, grabbed your things, and walked out, not even bothering to look behind you as your hand rubbed harshly over the mating bite on your neck.

---------------------------------

as always, thank you so so much for the support, and keep an eye out for chapter four! tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy @alkalineapparition @cringeycookies

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

a.n — double update cause it's a short one + apology for the contents of this chapter word count — 1.4 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

seven

wednesday, january 29th

"no, i'm telling you, it's real! i read about it." devon pulls on hazel's arms as the four of you walk toward your school building. "someone talking about it in a tiktok video is not reading about it, devon." ivy laughs and devon shoves her to the side. "you believe me, right, y/n?" she turns to you and you're in this weird inbetween place where you can hear them, sort of but your mind is also in a million other places so you don't immediately answer.

"hey?" hazel rests an arm on your shoulder which halts you, "hm?" you ask and look at your three very concerned best friends. "you know we don't have to go, right? we can just..go to my house, get all the strawberry ice cream from the freezer and have a long discussion about ..cryptozoology. devon can tell us about that time she saw the loch ness monster again." she says and you smile when devon mutters something about her experience being 100% real.

"you have a perfect attendance, hazel. we are not going to tarnish that for..a boy. i'm okay." you try to sound convincing, try to convince yourself even because really, it shouldn't suck as much as it does. you knew that rafe somehow reciprocating your crush was wishful thinking. it was stupid to ever even entertain or let the idea play in your mind.

you'd had crushes before, even kissed two guys. once when you were fourteen and once when you were fifteen but looking at them never felt the same way as looking at rafe and you had never even come close to kissing him.

"but—"

"no. let's go." you force the three girls forward. you were first in your class, first in your entire grade, you singlehandedly organise almost every major and minor event at this school, you process all the complaints and changes students want almost weekly, you help your parents at home, you work at a bakery on saturdays, you volunteer on sundays. you are resilient and capable and rafe cameron is not going to bat his eyelashes and break you in one month of knowing him. it just wasn't going to happen. it couldn't.

you could avoid him, you think as you walk into the school building. right? this school was fairly big and truth be told, before you started tutoring, rafe didn't really stand out to you. things could go back to that time. they had too.

the first four hours went perfectly. you passed by the office and helped sandy with some paperwork until class started, then you went to class and were able to avoid him during the break as well.

you got nervous when lunchtime came around. you and your friends usually stayed in school during lunch which meant rafe could just walk up to you in the cafeteria but there were other places you could go. you could go to the green spaces or the common area. maybe even the bleachers in the basketball court though you never really liked the smell in there.

you eventually chose the green space. it was quiet and calm, just what you needed. you and your friends sat down and when you open your bag you realise you left your lunch in your locker. "i left my lunch in my locker, i'll be right back." you tell them and fish your key out of your bag before making your way out of the green space and down the stairs.

when you made it to the second floor, you walked to your locker, keys jiggling in your hands. "y/n?" your heart stopped at the sound of his voice, and the natural course of action when someone called your name was to stop or at least turn but you just kept walking. "uh huh?" you answered.

"hey, hold on!" he called and you heard him start to jog. you start to walk faster. "i..uhh am kinda in a hurry!"

"just wait." he grabs your wrist and whips you around. he looks unjustifiable good again. you force yourself to not make eye contact. "yes, rafe?" you find yourself saying in the most passive tone and his gaze lingers, filled with worry. "what happened yesterday? i texted you like ten times." he's visibly upset—crease between his brows, soft searching eyes boring it yours and it makes you upset and now you want to pinch yourself for being upset because you've created some kind of fucked up parasocial relationship with a guy who has no real interest in you.

"i..just wanted to go home. so, i went home." is the only thing you can come up with. it's technically the truth too. you pull your wrist away from his hand and he watches the action with a pained expression. "did something happen while i was gone? why didn't you come to me? i was going to take you home."

you shake your head nonchalantly dismissing him, "it's fine. i like walking, i barely exercise so i need it. it's absolutely fine." you're already turning around to find your locker but he's grabbing your wrist again, "why are you acting like this?" he's frustrated with you. you understand. you're acting different but you're frustrated with him too. even if you don't necessarily have the right to be. "you know i'm not that smart so stop playing fucking mind games with me."

you frown at his tone but also his choice of words. "you are smart, rafe. you're very smart." you correct, not liking it when he belittled himself. him not believing he was capable or smart was the whole reason he needed tutoring in the first place.

"yet i can't piece together why you're mad at me." he says, his tone displeased and you shake your head, finding his eyes. you find yourself wanting to appease him, wanting to make him feel better. you hate that he's upset, it coils something deep inside of you. "i am not mad. i'm not upset, i just..i didn't want to—" it was baffling how much you struggled to come up with a lie. you weren't a liar, okay? "i-i saw you, i saw..that you were, you were.. and i j-just—" you stammered and threw your head back in frustration.

he stared at you, eyes wide and expecting. "you just..what? how am i meant to fix it if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"you haven't done anything wrong; if anything it's me. i—"

"you what? you didn't have fun? did someone hurt you?"

"no one did anything." you murmur and it seems to be what pushes him over the edge, "then what's wrong?" he snaps, his apparent annoyance bursting at the seams.

"nothing is wrong. there is nothing to fix, i just wanted to go home so i went home!" you yelled suddenly and rafe along with the couple of people still in the hallway stared at you in what could only be describe as utter surprise. "sorry..i'm sorry." you tried to collect whatever pride you still had and turned on your heel abandoning your food completely.

it started slowly. just slow breaths as you walked up the stairs, then that pit in your throat when you were on the third floor, followed by tears in your eyes that you were frantically trying to blink away on the fourth floor, and when you finally made it to green space, the tears were streaming down your cheeks and hazel was already standing up before you'd even made it to the table. "oh, no, sweetheart," she's pulling you in your arms and the dam just breaks and you're letting out everything you'd been holding in since that stupid bonfire. "it's okay, i'm so sorry, you're okay." her comforting whispers and gentle kisses are muffled and overshadowed by the way you're crying in her arms.

you feel ivy and devon's hands on your back, rubbing slow circles, "we got you," you feel a warm hug from behind and one on the side. you're completely cooped up, unable to even see anymore light, just little cracks. either way your vision is blurry with tears. "i w-wanna go h-home.." you hiccup in hazel's neck and you can feel her nodding. "we'll go home. we're going home."

hazel's parents are surprised to see the four of you home but when they see which state you're in, they barely question it. her mom orders take out, the junkiest junk food they can find, she calls your mom to tell her where you are, you pile onto the couch and they don't mention rafe once. you have a six-hour-long discussion about cryptozoology and the science behind mythical creatures.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.  taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[eternally6pm]

Irresistible Force - Part 4

Tending Towards Zero

Rating: M

Characters: Jakob, FCorrin, Xander, Silas, Camilla.

- They dance -

PART 3 | PART 5

---

Jakob found himself settling into routine before he even realised the month had ended and it was time to turn in his first report to Xander. Corrin was perhaps one of the easiest assignments he had ever been given – she was transparent and cooperative, and any potential threat to her safety seemed to be minimal at worst. 

And yet at the same time, this job was in fact the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do. No matter how many times Jakob tried to school the jumble of inappropriate thoughts in his head into submission, it was painfully apparent that the more time he spent with Corrin, the worse his crush on her became.

At first, he tried to fight it, skirting the idea like the time bomb that it was, trying to convince himself that the frantic fluttering in his chest he felt when she lit up at the sight of the coffee he brought her every morning was the effect of the first few sips of his espresso, and that he only reason he had to swallow the heavy feeling he had on evenings where she dismissed him early was because he didn’t like the idea of having to commute on the trains during rush hour.

But it wasn’t duty that made him stop her at the door so he could retrieve a coat and make her put in on before he drove her to university, or any written clause in the contract they’d signed that required him to impulsively buy her flowers under the guise of “brightening up the place”.

“You’re always underdressed,” he complained, helping her into a long tan coat.

“I don’t remember the weather report. You’re my reminder.”

“What happens one day, when I’m not around to remind you?”

She grinned. “I’ll freeze and die. So you’d better be around.”

And it was at half-past eight, on a gloomy Wednesday morning, standing by her front door with her silk LV scarf in his hands, late again for classes, that he decided that he couldn’t fight it anymore. 

Not when she spoke so thoughtlessly – empty, playful comments that made him wish for more time, more contact, more closeness. Not when her smile ignited something in Jakob that made him feel like everything inside him was alight, burning until it consumed every last beat of his heart, every last breath.

I love her, I love her, he realised, and it felt like someone had held a gun to his head and blown reality away.

---

The younger boy was nervous and Jakob suspected that he might have been intimidated by the prospect of confrontation, but once he finally found the courage to speak, it was clear that the subject of discussion was what had him on tenterhooks. 

 “Are you into her? Corrin, I mean.”

Jakob peered over the rim of his drink at him. He took another swallow. It was a sorry virgin substitute for a gin and tonic – the bartender had given him a very confused look when he asked for tonic water with a squeeze of lemon – and it was awful. But not as awful as this conversation he was being forced to have.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” And all of a sudden, Silas was angry, his eyebrows scrunching, the corner of his mouth turning down. It overrode his nerves, but only served to make him look less anxious and more irrational. “You follow her around everywhere, it’s freaking weird. Every time I call her, she’s either with you or she says she’s gotta take you with her. What is hell is up with that?”

“It’s nothing,” Jakob replied simply.

Nothing. Just a contract.

He looked to where Corrin bent over at the pool table, lining up a shot as her tongue peeked out at the corner of her lips in concentration and her skirt rode up to where her patterned stockings faded at the border of the top of her thighs.

“I don’t have friends here. My mother wanted her to make sure I wasn’t spending my time alone.” Sometimes, he surprised himself with how easily the lies came to him.

“Oh,” Silas blinked, visibly relieved at the explanation. 

“You know how Corrin can be.”

Silas nodded, unsuccessfully hiding a smile with a large swallow of beer. He picked up the coaster and folded it in half. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply –“

Jakob waved him off. “It’s fine.” God, he hated not being able to drink on the job.

“I mean, I thought it was pretty weird anyway, being her cousin and all, but if you were into her,” he chuckled awkwardly, “how messed up with that be?”

More than you could possibly imagine.

It was a mess of lies, a mess of secrets, a mess of emotion, a mess when he thought about her for too long while he lay in bed alone.

“Quite,” Jakob agreed.

But it wasn’t as messed up as this. The boy would take this as permission, of course, confirmation that it was acceptable to go ahead and sweep her off her feet, and Jakob had just given it himself, while still barely getting his head around the fact that the idea of her spending time with someone else – falling in love with someone else – made him feel sick with despair.

“Well, um, thanks for that.” Silas raised his beer at Jakob. “You’re not too bad, you know? Just need to cheer up a little. You’re always so serious.”

Jakob tilted the drink in his hand, watching as Corrin leaned back and gave a small victorious pump of her fist. She turned and caught his eye, flashing him a smile that made his heart twist with longing.

“You’re not the first to tell me that.”

---

Corrin was tired. 

She couldn’t remember exactly when it had started to build up, but all of a sudden, midterms had arrived and she had three other assignments due within the week of each other, two quizzes worth ten percent of her final mark and no time. All of it seemed to blend into an endless, indecipherable blur of late nights and a constant feeling of dread, like something was chasing her and the moment she let her guard down, it would seize her and shred her to pieces.

Her only comfort lately had been, ironically, her own bodyguard. When Xander had insisted that they hire a new one, she had tried to talk him out of it. She was old enough; she could look after herself, and besides, no one knew who she was anyway. It wasn’t like the Paparazzi were camping outside her apartment.

But Xander would not relent. She had to either get a bodyguard or move back home. Defeated, Corrin asked for a compromise: she would accept another bodyguard if she was allowed to choose the person protecting her. Xander agreed to let her accompany him downtown to the offices of Northern Fortress, and there, a block away from the conversation she would have with Gunter over a bunch of files, she met Jakob for the first time.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when his photo came up – of course the tie and the black bomber was a uniform – and once it did, she immediately lost interest in every other guard she had seen. He was handsome even in the standard headshot, his pale hair pulled back neatly to reveal the strong lines of his jaw, his blue gaze dark and solemn, and she knew the voice that passed those lips was accented in a way that gave her butterflies when he spoke.

I want him.

And he turned out to be more than just a firm hand and a handsome face. He was intelligent, efficient, serious to a fault, but also incredibly witty, and she found herself more and more prone to laughing in his presence. He was thoughtful. After she had commented on his coffee on the first day of semester, he brought her coffee every morning, a tall, strong latte that she knew he ordered hot so that it would still be warm by the time it reached her.

He was attentive. As the weather grew colder, Jakob wouldn’t let her leave the house without putting on a coat. The first time, it was genuine forgetfulness on her part – Corrin liked to wear skirts and dresses, and with the heating running at her apartment almost constantly, she never knew what the true temperature outside would be. But when he briefly vanished and reappeared with a coat from her wardrobe and then proceeded to put it on her and slowly button it up to her collar, she felt herself flush pleasantly from the feeling of his hands on her. 

Every morning she forgot afterwards was entirely deliberate.

Jakob stood close when he did this, and she could smell the faint, fresh scent of his cologne, momentarily imagine that all this was happening in reverse and he would undress her, take her to bed and do things with his pretty mouth that would make her lose her mind.

He was kind. The one time she panicked at the sight of a spider, he had come running, so suddenly wrenched from his own evening that his hair was still damp from the shower she had clearly interrupted. But he still helped her even though he didn’t have to, and he’d even stayed afterwards to make her dinner. Corrin had pushed the limits of what was appropriate that evening, going so far as to try and get him drunk, but he was still, infuriatingly, a gentleman, even with almost four glasses of wine in him, and she had drunk too much herself to do anything other than fall asleep on the sofa. It was a small miracle that he’d woken her to get her to go to sleep properly and then somehow made it home without killing himself.

The only thing she’d really gotten out of that had been the fact that he used to be a ranking officer in the Royal Marines, and the thought of him in uniform only helped elevate her daydreams to a level that left her agitated and distracted.

It was almost ridiculous, how quickly and desperately attached to Jakob she had become, even though she knew he had nothing but a professional interest in her. Despite his ability to be constantly and consistently wonderful, he always seemed to be standing an arm’s length away from her, and it drove her crazy how someone could be near her every single day, and still not be close enough.

In fact, if Corrin took a step back from the sheer physical attraction that clouded her judgement, she found that she craved conversation with him the most, the hilariously dry banter that he would toss her way to bat back, the way he sighed when she said something nonsensical, the very rare smiles  he would occasionally turn away to hide. She wanted to know him, not just be beside him, and it frustrated her to no end that it was impossible, given his role in her life.

Still, there were moments where these lines blurred and she couldn’t quite tell if Jakob was carefully toeing some sort of boundary, or if she were simply choosing to see it that way. He had brought her irises one morning, beautiful and so blue that they made his eyes almost look violet, and her heart had leapt excitedly into her throat at the sight of them, even though he said it was for no reason other than the fact that her apartment looked too dull and grey for his liking.

Lately, he had taken to the habit of remaining for just an hour or so after he drove her home from the university to make her dinner. She had told him it really wasn’t necessary, but he simply continued to do so, going so far as to set the table, before leaving for the day.

The only time Jakob stayed to eat with her, she had asked him to explicitly, sick of how empty her apartment felt after he was gone, hungry for more time in his company so she could tease him and hopefully this time, get him to laugh.

“Are your tests and assignments done?”

She sighed heavily. “Almost. I’ll be done by the start of next week.”

He moved another helping of green beans onto her plate. “Make sure you eat. Drink plenty of water, rest. And not at your desk. Go to sleep in your bed.”

“Yes, mum,” she rolled her eyes.

He cleared his throat, but it might have also been a noise of amusement.

“Would I… be able to help you at all?”

She looked up at him and saw that he had stopped eating, watching her almost uncertainly as he waited for her response.

“You’re already doing plenty.”

“Well,” he sighed quietly, “let me know if I can do anything else.”

You could kiss me, she wanted to say, but it was absurd, because he was just being nice, and she was being monumentally stupid about all this, letting her mind run away with deliberate misinterpretations, just because he had agreed to have dinner with her.

“Thank you, Jakob,” she said instead.

He shooed her to the study after dinner and insisted that he would do the dishes. By the time she returned to check on him, he had already left.

---

It had been almost five whole minutes since he had shut off the engine, but in the darkness of the basement garage, he sat without moving, his hands still on the wheel as he watched her sleep.

Gently, ever so gently, he reached across to push the hair away from her face.

She looked peaceful, beautiful enough to break his heart.

“Corrin,” he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

[peachesofteal]

I know Azriel has amassed a ton of wealth over centuries from doing the dirtiest work, and rarely spends it. He's never really had a need to. Of course, he buys gifts for his family, covers tabs at Rita's, buys himself things, essentials, etc but when it comes to spending for enjoyment or spending to indulge, it just doesn't happen.

He's not looking for reasons, either, until he literally stumbles into one.

You trip and fall into him in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Trip over something on the ground, get twisted up, and flail forward, right into his path. You're rose and pink pepper, floral, sharp, sweet in a way he cannot fathom, and he doesn't think before stopping your fall. He just reacts, grabbing you around the arms and pulling you upright, holding you steady as you recalibrate your balance, looking up into his face, eyes shining bright like the stars. They're brilliant, full of life, but lined with an undercurrent of stress, of worry, he does not understand.

You're fumbling over an apology as he studies you, scrutinizing every detail on your face, down to the chap of your lips.

He's never seen a High Fae look so... off before, and they're not known to be clumsy.

"Are you alright?" It's polite to inquire, he assures himself, it's the right thing to do.

"I'm fine," you smile but it doesn't touch your eyes, "thanks. Sorry about that. I wasn't watching where I was going." He's unsure what to say next but before he can come up with something, you're giving him a quick thank you, and then disappearing into market.

He thinks about you that night. Wonders about you, as he stares at the bedroom ceiling. You obviously weren't well. Maybe he should have done more. It's his duty, isn't it? To Velaris? To care for it and its citizens, to protect them. Or at least, you. Do something to care for you, protect you.

He's not sure what to do, so he pushes the lingering questions from his mind.

And then the following week, he sees you at Rita's.

You're waiting tables, waltzing across the floor delivering drinks with a smile, the same one that slips away as soon as you're out of sight. Your shoulders slump as you stand at the corner of the bar, covering your mouth with your palm, yawning into it again and again.

Maybe he should do something, maybe you need a healer, maybe he could help-

No. He shouldn't. You probably wouldn't want him to, anyway. Right?

He shakes it off, tries to shake you off but can't stop himself from watching every step you take, trying to diagnose the problem.

It takes too long for it to click.

You're not sick, or clumsy.

You're exhausted, and it makes him irrationally angry, fills him with a need to drag you away from Rita's and tuck you up into a house somewhere, a place you'll never have to lift a finger again if you so choose. A place where you could be taken care of-

maybe even by him.

It takes him very little time to find the ramshackle duplex you live in on the outskirts of town, the roof too sloped, the wooden steps too rotted, the siding too loose.

It makes him uneasy, makes his skin crawl. Why are you here, in a place like this? Who has allowed this?

Why does a place like this even exist when Velaris has such wealth?

He begins to play a game, and at first, he tells himself it's to make himself feel better, that he's doing it for selfish reasons.

It's winter, and you don't have gloves, so he buys a pair and the shadows deposit them on your front step, and it makes the sick feeling in his stomach go away. For a few days.

When it returns, he buys you a hat, and this time, he delivers it himself, eager to see your reaction.

He doesn't expect to see the gloves still sitting on the porch, and he frowns. Did you not see them? Did you not like them? He leaves the hat at their side and lurks on the roof of the house across from yours, hiding in shadow, in wait.

The sun is still rising when you leave for your first job of the day, and you stop short at the sight of the hat. He perks up, expecting to see you relax with relief, or happiness, but is left confused when you hold the hat in your hands for a moment, reverently tracing the stitching, before dropping it back next to the gloves.

Why? You need these things. They're being given anonymously, alleviating some of awkwardness of accepting gifts, and he had hoped it would spare you from feelings of obligation or embarrassment. Perhaps you are too proud, he wonders, but shadows echo a different sentiment, one of distrust, of wariness.

The gifts scare you.

The guilt churns the bile in his stomach, and he flexes his fingers into fists before flying away, cursing himself the whole way home.

Idiot.

You're very surprised when he approaches you on your walk from the Palace to Rita's, so much so that you jerk to a dead stop, staring at him with your mouth dropped open as he tries to explain he has something to give you.

Yes, he knows you don't know him. Yes, he's aware how strange this is.

Yes, you will be taking this scarf whether you like it or not.

"I'm sorry?"

"This is for you." He extends the scarf towards you, holding his breath. Your eyes narrow.

"Have you been leaving things on my porch?"

"Yes." There's no point in lying. He's standing here trying to gift you a scarf, for Cauldron's sake.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, anxious, and he wishes there was a way he could reassure you without frightening you further.

"You needed them." It comes off as arrogant, but he doesn't care. He's getting to the point where he's past caring, where he's past watching you freeze and work yourself to the bone. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscles are straining, and it takes effort to steady his voice. "You're freezing."

"I-"

"I want you to have this." Just take it. The shadows skitter around him, trawling across the brick to where you stand, and you glance at them briefly, surprisingly unafraid, before looking back at him. He expects a fight, some kind of resistance, but it's all been bled dry. The only thing he sees is defeat, and it stings. You're suffering, you're suffering and he's got everything he could ever want, material wise, and then some. "Please," he murmurs, stepping forward, and you shake your head.

"I shouldn't."

"It's just a gift, I don't expect anything in return."

"You say that now." Your voice trembles. Anger cracks like lightning through his veins. Is this what you fear? A transaction? An exchange for help? There are only so many things one could want in a situation like this, and all of the them fill him with rage.

"I promise you," his voice is steel, firm and unrelenting, "I want nothing in return."

"You promise." It's not a question, and you won't meet his gaze, but he pushes on.

"I do." You reach for it hesitantly and wrap it around your neck, tucking your chin into the softly spun wool, cheeks lifting in a very small, shy smile. Good girl.

He chose perfectly. It complements your skin, your eyes, illuminates your already striking beauty.

"I... thank you. This is really nice. It's lovely." The shadows hum, and he secretly preens, the warmth in his chest spreading as you tell him your name.

"I'm Azriel," he says in return, and you nod.

"I know." You sigh, and look past him, down the street to where he knows your work awaits. "I have to go."

Or he could take you. It's tempting, so, so tempting. It's wicked, and rotten, but satisfying at the same time, and it soothes the reckless pieces of him calling out to you.

No. He shouldn't. He settles on a different course instead.

"I'll see you soon." Your brow furrows.

"You will?" He nods, spreading his wings, preparing to launch into the sky, pleased by how you marvel at them.

"And you'll wear both the gloves and hat when you're outside from now on." Your lips part with surprise. "Yes?" It takes a beat, and then two-

"Yes."

[luveline]

I am so incredibly sick rn and desperately craving some Hotch comfort—maybe bau!gf who desperately tries to hide the fact that she’s sick even when she’s burning up and can’t keep her eyes open, and Hotch who just wants to take care of her!!

thank you for your request! i hope you feel better soon. —hotch fights to take care of you when you hide a fever. fem!reader, 1.4k

Spencer knows you're sick, but he's the only one who's figured it out so far. Everybody else is too busy. 

He pushes your coffee toward him and exchanges it for a cup of water without saying anything. You're relieved to find it's ice cold, fighting to drink it without spilling it, or worse, pressing it to your furnace of a forehead. 

"Just go home," he says. 

"I like it here," you say lightly.

"You're fatigued, obviously running a fever, and probably disoriented if your eyes are anything to go off of." 

"Are they?" you ask, eyes fluttering closed. 

You prop yourself on your hand. Having a desk right next to Spencer has its ups and downs. Ups including physics magic, surprise trinkets, and all the donuts you can eat. Downs include this —he's too good at his job but bad at taking a hint, so while he's realised that you're sick and tired and should probably head home, he hasn't stopped to think you might be keeping it a secret for a reason. 

If you take more sick leave already after your week long bout of food poisoning only a fortnight ago, it will look like you're trying to take advantage of Hotch. You don't want the team thinking you're cheating and you don't want Hotch to think this is how it’s going to be. You’d never use him like that, but it’s so early into the relationship that there’s no way for him to know that for sure. 

You take a measured breath. You're the kind of sick that yearns for bed, head heavy, a pounding pain behind your eyebrows and a nose you can't breathe through. Your lips are chapped despite the thick layer of balm you applied that morning. The weight of a bowling ball rests in your sinuses. Your head begins to list forward. 

"Y/N?" 

You look up, rubbing your forehead as nonchalantly as you can manage. Hotch stands with a hand on the railing of his half-platform, eyebrows pulled together as they tend to be. 

You like the sound of your name on his lips, even if it's said with question. 

"Yeah?" you ask. 

Before, it would've been, Yes, sir? But Hotch told you (while in boyfriend mode, assumedly) that it makes him hot around the collar (though he'd said it more delicately), so now you save it for special occasions, like when you want to get your way, and when he looks especially perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he asks. 

He can't like the way you say, "I'm fine," maybe he spots the far-away look in your eyes, your poorly concealed wince as your head throbs, maybe he just knows you. He gives you a look bordering reproachful and turns away. 

"My office," he says.  

Spencer sends you a pointed look. When he realises you aren't awake enough to glare back, he nudges you encouragingly. "Be honest," Spencer says. 

You almost fall up the short steps to the landing in front of Hotch's office. You don't knock before entering, and later you'll realise how odd this is. Hotch hasn't even sat down, instead straightening a paper from the wrong side of the desk. 

"What's wrong? Another migraine?" he asks. 

"No. I'm alright, did you want something?" 

He turns around fully. You like seeing him after hours without his suit, arms behind his tired neck and eyes half-lidded, but this look is just as good on him: furrowed brows, a hand twitching toward you but not touching. He tries not to cross the line here at work because when it starts it never ends. Your evaluations have to be cross examined and approved by a higher up, you are not permitted to room together on cases, and you have to report to HR every three to six weeks to reaffirm that Hotch isn't being coercive. It's odd and invasive at times, but these are things you have to do to be together. You'd do worse. 

"Did I want something?" he asks. It's more patient than incredulous, but the incredulity is definitely there. 

"From me?" 

"I want lots of things from you." He breaks eye contact with you and turns back to his things, shuffling papers into a manila folder. You blink dozily, wanting a hug and needing him to let you go back to your desk lest you give in and lean against his broad chest. "Like for you to take care of yourself." 

"I'm fine." 

"Forgive me if this is something I shouldn't say, but you don't look okay. You look sick." 

You summon your most convincing smile even while his back is turned and enthuse your tone with some practised pep. "Well, it's not the most romantic thing in the world." 

He ties the cord on his manilla envelope and clicks open his briefcase. It's a testament to how sick you are that you didn't notice it there, nor his coat thrown over the edge of the desk. 

"You going somewhere?" you ask curiously. 

"I'm taking you home, honey." 

You shake your head. "No, you're not. I'm fine." 

Hotch puts his coat on regardless. Briefcase closed and in hand, he walks the short distance to you and scans your expression for any give. "Let's go home." 

"Hotch–" 

"Home," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No more 'Hotch'." 

You take a step back but not one more than that, startled by his readiness to leave, and his reluctance to believe you. You're a bad actor and he's trained in the art of untangling deception —it isn't going to work. You give it a valiant effort. 

"You don't have the resources to give me the day off. You definitely don't have the resources to take a day off with me, and that's fine because I'm not sick." You rub your face clean, dust off your work blouse. "I have a headache, it's not so bad." 

Hotch actually smiles, then. You worked for him for three months before you realised he could. It isn't what you're expecting. It disarms you.

"Liar," he says, ducking down to give you a kiss. He sounds amused and sorry at once, an impossible combination marked by his small smile and his protective hand at your elbow. 

Every kiss is like a shock. Not because Hotch is particularly abrasive to the senses, the opposite —it feels right. 

"I'm not lying," you say.

"Take the day off with me, then." 

He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, evidenced by his smile, but he sobers for your sake. "You're lying to me, but that's not what matters. I can feel your head like a flame and I'm not even touching it. And you've kept your secret well, honey, but Reid's a good friend." 

"What did he tell you?" you murmur. 

"You fell asleep for sixteen seconds." 

"When?" you ask in disbelief.

"A couple of minutes before I called for you." Hotch squeezes your arm. 

"If we go home you'll have so much work to do when we come back," you lament. 

"It'll be the same as any other day," he says. He's slipped into his most dulcet tone, the kind he uses with family. "I am… desperate, to take care of you. I can't do that here. Please oblige me and let me do it at home." 

"Oblige you?" you ask. 

"Being your boyfriend isn't working. I thought I would try boss instead." 

You relent, finally. You genuinely can't abstain from him anymore, not when he's being as ridiculously charming and gentle as he is, his hand steadying at your elbow. Plus, your brain is probably gonna explode inside of your skull any second now if your headache is anything to go by. You drop your face into his chest and sigh, relieved when his hand moves to your shoulder, and his cheek presses to the top of your head. 

"This is inappropriate," you mumble. 

"You're really not well, hm?" he asks, just as quietly. "I'd be negligent if I didn't take notice. Doubly negligent if I didn't take you home." 

"Human resources…" You mean to say more. He's solid, he wants to hug you, and he smells like his expensive cologne. Hotch has a presence about him that's automatically comforting once you overcome the intimidating. Sometimes, even, the intimidating helps it along. You feel sheltered by his arms. Totally safe. It's probably why you nearly pass out in his embrace right there and then. 

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back. "Alright. I'll let human resources know your complaint, honey, don't worry. Let's get you to the car." 

[arbitrarykiwi]

Third Times a Charm: Oral Fixation 2/3

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x AFAB reader smut series

Summary: you ran into him three separate times. First was at a party, second time was at a club. And like his favorite drugs, he was addicted. The third time? Well he wasn’t going to let you get away so easy. Third times a charm and he was going to get his fix. ((Non-squid games au))

Warnings: Smut (18+), LONG (y'all.. I went over board: 6.4k words), id say this is significantly more debauched than the first chapter, alcohol use, drug use, substance mixing, stalker! Nam-Gyu themes (he finds your info online), porn with plot (long intro, there is a divider added for convenience if you wish to skip to the fuckin') , oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talk, name calling ((this chap. is significantly more gendered than the first one)) (pretty girl, good girl, whore and slut used once), face fucking, sugar daddy! Nam-Gyu themes, spitting, cum play, breath play, he’s nasty- got a filthy mouth on him, brief mention of death threats (he threatens somebody for interrupting y'all), proof read but I am dyslexic, there's prolly more- read at your own risk

Previous chapter: Taste Test 1/3

Next chapter: Bodytalk 3/3

AN: gonnna be so real yall, music inspo for this fic is São Paulo ft. Anitta by The Weekend…if you wanna read it with the fic be my guest 😋 (best time to start it is when yall meet again in da club)

The second time you ran into him was at a club.

It has been about two weeks since your interaction with him. Nam-Gyu. To say that he was all you thought about would be putting it lightly. The thought, the feel, the scent of him, was all you could think about.

Figuring with just a name to go off of and the drugged out crowd you often hung around, your luck of finding him was slim to none. You tried to search him up, nothing. All searches took you to was links about a ‘Club Pentagon’.

You tried to go out with some men, often finding yourself repulsed anytime they put your hands on you. Pushing them away and calling a cab to just go back home and get yourself off. None of those guys seemed worth your time- you’d just be thinking about him anyway.

His hands felt better. His lips felt better. He felt better.

You found yourself in your room, with a half smoked blunt hanging between your fingers as you scrolled through social media aimlessly. While scrolling you watched as a notification popped up at the top of your screen, your phone resonating a ‘ping’- a text from your friend asking you to go out to, none other than, Club Pentagon. You clicked the notification with a speed you didn’t know you had.

A reply is sent quick, agreeing to meet her at the club in a few hours. You stood up off your bed, taking a drag of the blunt you rolled- getting ready or not, you can’t waste it!

In the span of a couple hours you got ready, dolling yourself up in the best outfit you could think of. One of your favorite dresses, the one that was just a little too short but fit oh so perfect. You hope by some grace of the universe- he’s there. And with the chance that he may be there…you wanted to take a little extra time with your makeup.

After finishing off your blunt, taking more than a couple shots, and a excecuting perfect face of makeup- you’re calling a taxi with a nice buzz and making your way to Club Pentagon.

The night is cool when you step out the taxi. You pay and thank the cab driver, turning to find your friends in the long line of people. It doesn’t take long, they find you. They yell your name from the crowd, excitedly pulling you into the line. “God damn!! You look good!” One of your friends cheers, you laugh and give a little twirl. The group you find yourself in catches up, chatting, while walking slowly with the line of people waiting in queue for the club.

Soon you make it to the entrance, a large bouncer stands near a velvet rope that block the front door of the club. The large neon sign sporting the words ‘Club Pentagon’ flash a vibrant pint that illuminated the area outside the club.

Your group begins filling into a small cluster behind the velvet rope, waiting by the entrance for the rest of the group before heading into the club. Your friend in front of you passed the bouncer, adjusting her pink wristband sporting ‘21+’. It was the usual band bars around here used to signify the person wearing it was of age to drink.

You hand your ID to the bouncer patiently waiting to be let into the club. The bouncer looks to you then to your ID, he seems to re-read it then looks back up to you. “Wait here.” He tells you, stepping away. You look to your friend with a quirked eyebrow, wondering what the hold up is.

Your friend laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out to the bouncer. “She’s of age officer I swear!!” You reach over to swat her arm to get her to stop. “Bitch c’mon! For one, he’s not an officer. Two, that’s literally what someone with a fake ID would say.” You laugh, already tipsy from the pregame.

The bouncer returns with a chuckle at your friend’s antics. “Not worried ‘bout that girls.” He says to you and your friend with a jovial laugh. “Your name was familiar, saw it on the VIP list.” The bouncer says, to only you this time, placing a lime green wristband on your wrist, on it the acronym ‘VIP’ is printed around the entirety of the paper bracelet.

“Huh?” You say incredulously, you haven’t even been to this club before and you sure wouldn’t pay for a VIP band yourself. You look to your friend group, wondering if they had something to do with it. Their faces mimicked yours, confused, so they obviously had nothing to do with this.

“This must be a mistake- I didn’t pay for this.” You say not wanting to get overcharged. “No mistake Ma’am. One of our club promoters put you on the list personally.” He says opening the red suede rope to let you into the building.

You’re confused, you don’t know any club promoters. But you nod, in thanks to the bouncer as you join your friends. You are still wildly perplexed but not complaining- it’s a free all you can drink ticket! Your friends ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at you as you walk in with them.

“Which club promoter’s dick did ya suck to get that~” Your friend teases leaning into you, you laugh and shake your head. “Genuinely…no one’s. I have never been here before….the covers always been too high.” You say, your eyes scanning the grand entrance of the club- chandeliers covered the ceilings, various colored lasers reflecting off of the diamonds and dispersing into colored rays that flood the floor.

“Ohhh??? A secret admirer??!!” Your friends giggle as you make your way to the bar. You laugh her off, shaking your leaning on the bar. “For real I can’t imagine who would put me on the list…” You shrug as you all order your first round of drinks.

In your head you’re trying to find any possible reasoning. It’s couldn’t be him, could it?

Anytime you looked up his name, and you typed out those six letters more times than you could count over the weeks, he never came up….but this club that you find yourself at - Club Pentagon- did. Was he a club promoter here? Was he the club promoter that put you on the expensive VIP list?! Even if he was…you didn’t give him your name the last time you saw him. You were pulled away from him before you could even thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave you, let alone give him your name.

Your eyes darted around the place, examining the club that you never bothered to come to. Sure the cover was expensive but as you see the extravagant decoration, multiple stages lit up with flashing, multi-colored panels, and intricate carved marble columns throughout the place- the price seemed worth it.

You make good use of the VIP wristband, ordering rounds of shots that were covered by the lime green piece of paper that’s on your wrist. But you still can’t stop thinking of who would have put you on the list.

With the free VIP bracelet came an exclusive area within the club, a small lounge area that was one of many within the establishment. Each VIP with a bracelet and their group got one.

So there you found yourself, getting ready to head to the dance floor after spending some time on the plush leather couch of the sectioned off area.

You can’t count how many shots you’ve taken at the VIP table but you were feeling great. Your friends excitedly stood up, hearing one of their favorite songs come on. You laughed, standing with them to begin to head to the dance floor.

Your friends practically ran to the dance floor, leaving you there laughing at just how fast they made it- drunk and in heels nonetheless. Just when you’re about to leave your table you hear someone clear their throat.

You turn immediately to the person, your eyes widening. “Nam-gyu!” You say with a smile, walking over to him. He’s dressed to the nines, a black suit, a red undershirt that’s unbuttoned revealing his collarbones. He’s leaning against one of the columns that had intricate carvings on it.

He smiles, taking a drag from a blunt that he had. “Well, seems like you finally took advantage of your VIP privileges I gave you.” He says with a wicked grin. Under the flashing lights he looks like a snake ready to strike, it’s alluring in ways you can’t even put into words.

You gravitate towards him, your eyebrows raising as you realize he was the one to give you this VIP pass. “You’re the mysterious club promotor who gave me the VIP?” You question as you walk to him. You come close to him, standing in front of him- looking up at him.

He nods, looking you over like he’s a predator ready to catch his prey. His hand reaches out and dances along your arm in a light motion. You watch as his eyes take all of you in, his teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath. You don’t know it but all he can think of is the way your cunt felt around his fingers and the way your cum tasted on his tongue. “Put your name on the list personally.” He responds.

“How’d you-“ You begin to say. He cuts you off, pulling you closer into him by the small of your back. “Find your name?” He says, almost mocking the way you’re sure you would have asked it. It’s a demeaning, taunting tone that does nothing to help the growing warmth in your lower stomach. You nod in response, swallowing thickly as his hand runs down the curve of your ass to grip at flesh.

He laughs, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The hand that wasn’t gripping your ass held a lit blunt. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long drag. As he does, he doesn’t look away from you. His dark eyes are lit up in an orange hue as the cherry of the blunt rages when he draws in a hit. He drops his hand to his side again.

Smoke rolls out of his mouth in smooth streams as he looks down at you and grins. “Sweetheart, s’not that hard….” He drawls on, leaning down closer to you. A devious smirk spreads across his lips. “I didn’t just get your name, I found your phone number and address too.” He rasps, pulling back after his words to look at you.

He has a mischievous, almost wicked glint in his eyes that has you spinning. You should be freaked out, fighting against him for being some sort of crazed stalker- but you don’t. You keep grinding against him, your hands finding purchase around his neck.

Your eyes scan his, wide and trying to figure out what to do. ‘Cute’ he thinks. It was like your common sense was fighting your desire for him, and it was a battle he loved to watch. “You knew where I lived and had my number…why didn’t you-“

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your ass, once again, his ringed fingers gripping into the flesh as if you’d run away. He brings his hand up in between you two, holding the blunt so that it faces you. You can taste the wrap on your lips.

You look up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him want to forget pleasantries and fuck you here and now. But he restrains himself- nodding his head towards the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours.

When your lips wrap around the blunt and suck in the smoke, you can hear him hiss. He speaks through gritted teeth. “There you go….” He rasps. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He says, it’s a tone that makes you melt, you can hear the hunger in his voice, speaking through gritted teeth as if he was fighting himself from ruining you on the spot.

When you release the blunt and let the smoke billow out of your lips he speaks again, “You’re right,” he says, finally beginning to answer your question, grinning down at you. “I could have texted or showed up to your apartment…” He says as he spins you around against him, pressing your back into his toned chest.

“But I’m not some stalker..” He hums into your ear, hand hands all over you. “..so I just put you, my pretty little thing, on the VIP list. Hoping that you and your group of friends would show up here.” He hums in a low timbre that sends goosebumps up your skin.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look back over your shoulder to at him.

“How could you have been so sure I would have came here?” You say your hand reaching back around him to entangle your fingers in his hair. You find yourself inhaling his cologne, even with significantly less drugs in your system than when you first met him- the scent is just as intoxicating.

“I wasn’t sure. In all honesty if I had to wait any longer I would have showed up on your door step.” He says, the tone in his voice tells you he’s not lying.

And it just makes you hotter.

“But there’s no need to think about that..you’re here now.” He breathes into your ear, his free hand that wasn’t holding the blunt, moving inwards from your waist, traveling down your stomach to grip at the inside of your thighs.

Wherever his hands go, they leave a trail of white hot fire, the only solace is the small cool sensation from the metal rings adorning his fingers. You arch into him, a small gasp coming out of your mouth at his fingers digging into your thighs, just centimeters away from where you needed them most.

“I was thinking about you…” You squeak out in a weak attempt to respond to him. “Tried to look you up.” You say, your breath hitching, breaking up your words into pathetic syllables as you feel him drag your ass against his growing hard on.

Maybe it was the way you were more coherent, less drugs in your system this time meeting him- or maybe it was the thin fabric of your dress leaving nothing to the imagination as he pressed against you- or maybe it was the way his fingers left you a shaking mess during your last meeting so you couldn’t pay attention - but you swore you could feel his erection against your back better than the last time you had an encounter with him.

And he was thick.

He laughs, the vibration tickling at the skin of your neck. “I’m not one to run around with the best crowd, sweetheart. Don’t need people findin’ me so easy.”

He puts the blunt out in a swift motion on an ashtray nearby. His one hand remains on your hip, the one now free from the blunt runs up your back.

He pushes, causing you to bend over in front of him. It’s raunchy, it’s debauched but you let it happen. His hand continues its path up your back to grip the hair at the base of your neck. The way your hips move in tandem is sinful. Your dress has long since bunched up above your ass, allowing his cock that strains against his pants to rub against your clothed cunt in the most delicious way possible.

You’re bent over in front of him, one of his hands tangled in your hair while the other continues the rhythmic sway of your ass against his erection.

“But I had no worry, I’d knew you’d find me eventually…huh, pretty girl?” He has with a scoff in his voice. “Like you said, been thinking about me….” He growls, his hand that’s in your hair pulls you back against him in a rough movement. You can feel the way his clothed cock is spreading your pussy, allowing the tent in his pants grind up against your clit.

A whine is pulled out of your throat as you press yourself back against him even more. Your head nodding in reply to his words. A low groan resides him his throat has he throws his head back, basking in the feeling of how warm his dick feels pressed against your clothed pussy. The slow grind of your body against his is in time with the music. The loud thrum of the bass only serving to make every moment of this even better.

He pulls you back up by your hair, the arm on your hip wrapping around your torso and caging you into him. “Y’know…I played your little game last time, fair and square. I’d say I impressed you at that little party, wouldn’t you?” He says into your ear as he shifts his hips upwards, deliberately dragging his clothed cock up into you, the only thing keeping him from sinking into your velvety walls was your underwear and his pants.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling yourself clench around nothing. It was embarrassing, yet again, how quick he could get you to come undone. Your lip catches on your bottom lip as you try to grind down into his motions.

His hand releases from your hair and comes up to grip your jaw. “Answer me. Use your words.” He says, his breath ticking your ear. The low growl of his voice is smooth but devilish, a warning. You can feel the way his chest heaves with heavy breaths against your back. A sing that you had just as much of an effect on him that he had on you.

“Y-you did. You impressed me.” You say desperately your words slurred by his hand that grips your jaw. His grip loosens, his head dropping to your neck. His lips dance along your pulse point, tongue leaving a warm, wet trail along the column of your throat to under your ear.

“So then you should agree that I should get a nice little reward, for being so gracious, even after you cheated at your own little game?” He says, his lips tickling your ear. You nod frantically, reaching behind you to palm his erection over his slacks to prove a point of how desperately you needed him.

He growls into your ear, spinning you around to face him before smashing his lips on yours. You whine against him, reciprocating the kiss with equal desperation.

You don’t even realize when he leads you down a hall in a feverish mess of kissing. Your back is pressed against a closed door before he hastily fumbles with the knob.

You both stumble into office in the back of the Club Pentagon- being one of its top promoters had its perks of a private office and Nam-Gyu was going to use it.

It’s a fast paced mess of tongue and teeth. You find yourself turned pressed up against the door, closing it with a soft thud. His hands remove themselves from your waist, coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs rest on your cheeks while his pinky’s are nestled right under your ears. He pulls you to him, as is he’s trying to merge you into him.

His tongue explores your mouth in a skilled way that has your mind melting. You whine against him as he bites your bottom lip. Your hands work in clumsy, jittery movements to unbuckle his belt. He chuckles against you, finding your feeble attempt to rid him of his pants endearing.

He breaks this kiss, his forehead pressed to yours as his hands trail up your sides to your chest, stopping to grope at your breasts. “Eager are we?” He chuckles against your lips.

You kiss him again, the taste of his lips addictive. Pulling away to pout, looking up at him as your hands dance along the buckle of his belt. “Yes. And so what if I am?”

He grins, laughing at your words, his hands that massage your breasts slow their ministrations. His thumbs being to work against your nipples under your shirt. He brushes his thumbs over them in feather light touches, relishing in the feeling of your nipples beginning to harden under his touch. When your breath catches in your chest and you arch into him, he scoffs. “Pretty and sensitive…I’m going to have fun with you.” He says in a degrading tone, enjoying the small hint of an attitude you had being subbed out so quickly by him playing with your nipples.

He kisses you again fervently, hands removing themselves from under your bra to push you backwards by your hips. Your knees buckle when you hit a piece of furniture.

You fall to a sitting position onto a small couch in the room, whining when your lips part from his. He comes close to you, standing between your legs and looking down at you.

His eyes are dark. His hair was tousled, some strands still pushed back with whatever product he used to style it while others fall over his face. He smiles down at you, his hands running over your shoulders, along the sides of your neck to cradle your head.

His hands move up into your hair, tangling into the strands and cranking your neck back to look up at him. He moves even closer. Your chin is touching his lower stomach, forcing you to hold his gaze as he grinds his erection that is painfully hard against in his pants against your neck.

He looks down at you as if you’re a goddess in a renaissance painting. “Aren’t you just a sight…” he muses. His hands leg go of your hair, his warning gaze is enough to keep you in place. One of his hands comes up, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

You do it almost instinctively, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Eyes never leaving his as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

His eyebrows raise, the breath he sucks in has your pussy clenching around nothing. “Oh…” He drawls on in a low amused hum. His eyes don’t leave your lips, it’s like he’s transfixed on where his thumb disappears into your warm mouth. “You’re fucking dangerous…” He muses in a low rumble. You can feel the way he grinds his erection into you throat as his thumb massages your tongue.

“C’mon then, I need to be inside your fucking mouth.” He growls, removing his finger from your mouth and quickly getting rid of pants and boxers. He doesn’t even have the patience to rid himself of his clothes, simply pushing them down to his knees.

His cock falls free from its confines and lands heavily in front of you, the tip smacking against your lips with a hearty sound.

Taken aback, you grip the base of his dick with one of your hands pulling your head back to look at it. It’s thick, long, the tip an angry red. The dark hairs at the base trail up his stomach in the most tantalizing line.

He hisses at the contact, you can feel it twitch in your hand. “Please, sweetheart…I’m dying…” He says, an upward cadence to his voice but his words are muffled. You look up from his cock, confused and when your eyes trail up his toned stomach to his face, your mouth is dry.

It’s a beautiful view. He has his red dress shirt is pulled up and out of the way by his teeth. His hair is disheveled, falling around his face and framing it in small shadows. His eyebrows are upturned, watching you- more specifically your mouth in a frenzied look, pleading for you to continue. His sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms that decorate his skin in intricate lines of black and grey.

How could you say no to him?!

Your mouth parts in a slow movement, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You place his cock on your tongue, smacking the angry tip against your tongue a couple times. Each time, you see his stomach clench as the warm wet feeling of your tongue met his dick.

He watches as you lick him from base to tip, stoping to wrap your plush lips on his the tip of cock. It’s a tease for the feeling of heaven that is your mouth because soon you release him, running your tongue along the underside of dick. The sounds he’s making are sinful, low moans and groans of your name that has your thighs pressing together to ease the ache in your cunt.

He groans, taking his shirt out of his mouth and holing it in one of his hands. His other one makes its way to the back of your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back.

“Enough of this teasing, sweet thing. You’re still the same slut that let me finger her on the dance floor weeks ago…so you’re gonna act like it, yeah?” He says looking down at you as he begins to jerk his cock over your face.

You smile, it’s a sight that has him gripping his dick tighter. Your mouth drops open, you nod. “That’s right…” he coos, shaking your head by the grip in your hair. “Stick your tongue out.” He demands, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on your hair.

You obey, lolling your tongue out, never breaking eye contact. He leans over you, making you watch as he sucks and then spits into your mouth. You moan out when you feel the taste of his saliva hit your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy. “Swallow.” He demands again. “And fucking look at me when you do it.” He says through gritted teeth.

You open your eyes again, watching him continue to pump his thick cock over your face. You obey, closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. Your gaze locked to his and its filthy. He stands over you, one hand on the back of your head, the other twisting around his length as he watches you swallow.

“Ohhh….” He coos, his eyebrows knitted together in an upturned expression as he watches you. “That’s it….” He says, taking a step closer to rub the tip of his dick over your plush lips. He grins down at you, his dark eyes trained on you as you stick your tongue back out, running it on the underside of his thick length.

“I don’t even have to ask? Y’know just what to do, huh? How fucking filthy you are…” He mocks in a condescending tone. His hips thrust forward just the tiniest bit, pushing the angry tip of his cock between your lips before pulling out. His eyes trained on the way your lips move around the ridge of his cock-head.

He hisses out a shuddering breath, biting his lip before speaking again, this time his tone drastically different- it’s softer. “You look so pretty like this..” He says in a soft hum, his hand brushing your hair back out of your face in a strangely comforting manner.

He surges his hips forward more, sinking his cock into your mouth. The sound he lets out is sinful. You look up, his head is thrown back, his hand clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “O-oh fuck…” He hisses.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, your tongue beginning to memorize every vein along his length. He isn’t quiet, he’s obscene. Every time you move your head up and down his cock he’s chanting praises followed by moans that fuel the wetness that pools in your underwear. You’re sure by this point it’s staining the fabric of the couch you sit on.

His head saga to the side, his eyes back on you. “You can do b-better than that. I know you can.” He says, panting between word, a degrading tone lacing his voice.

He moans as he feels you begin to work harder, your hand coming up to stroke at the length that you didn’t have in your mouth. His hand that’s at the back of your head moves to the side, the hand that’s holds his shirt drops the fabric to mirror his other hand.

Both hands on either side of your skull, he smirks down at you, panting. “You can take it.” He says with a chuckle, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You moan around him at his words, only spurring him on to press you down his length. As your lips inch down his cock he groans, indulging him self in the warm, wet, solace that was your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you, watching as spit begins to spill at the corners of your mouth, creating a ring around his cock every time he pulled your head back and forth. He was simply addicted.

“This….” He’s cut off as you straighten your tongue out, allowing him to begin to sink in the tightness of your throat. “O-oh f-fuck….” He shudders out through clenched teeth, the words aggressive. “T-this is so much better than any fucking drug I’ve done.” He huffs out.

His hands continue to press down. His head falling backwards once more as he uses your mouth. When the head of his cock finally slips past the tight ring of your throat he lets out a moan that is so wicked it has you echoing him. You let out a sound that is between a gag and a moan, it’s debauched. Porn worthy.

His head snaps back forward watching you with a dark look. When he sees that you don’t pull away, and instead look up at him- taking more of him in your throat without the push of his hands- he laughs. It’s a soft sound, one of awe, shock and pride.

“Takin’ me so well…so fuckin’ well.” He says, punctuating his words by returning his hands to the back of your head forcing you all the way down. With your nose pressed into the coarse hairs of his pubic bone your eyes roll back into your skull as you gag and choke around him.

One of the hands on your head drops to your throat, cradling it- feeling where his cock was nestled. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, the restriction of air leaving your pussy practically weeping onto the couch.

He pulls back, his cock pulling out of your throat in a messy string of saliva and his pre-cum. You gasp and cough, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Y-you’re so big…” you choke out in a raspy whine. He looks down at you with a pout, rubbing his hand over your lips, smearing your spit on your face.

“I know, pretty. But you can take it, yeah?” He says, his hand stopping at your cheek, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. “Mhm.” You say with a nod leaning into his hand.

He smiles down at you, his hands returning to their position to cradle your head. “Gonna let me cum down your throat like my good whore, huh?” He says, the words down right depraved but he has such a soft and sweet tone it has your brain spinning.

You nod, mouth opening again, tongue stuck out- waiting so patiently for him.

The rapid pace is set instantly. His cock enters your mouth, instantly sliding to the back of your mouth. His cock bullies its way down your throat relentlessly. You swear your throat is going to be permanently molded to the shape of his dick. Your tongue flattens more, licking against his balls every time he sinks you to the base of his cock.

“F-fuck, your fucking throat is so tight.” He almost chokes out, his hands working your face against his cock at a meteoric speed. Any time he felt you gag, it just made him fuck your face harder- and you loved it.

He looks down at you, his head lolled to the size, his gaze hazy. “I needa cum in y-your throat so bad..” he says in almost a pleading whine. The desperate hitch to his voice has your eyebrows turning up and eyes rolling back. You moan and gag around him, an attempt to spur him on.

“S’gonna feel so good, balls deep in your fucking throat.” He rambles, his breathing becoming heavier and his thrusts sloppier. “And you’re gonna swallow it all.” He mumbles, more to himself than you but you moan in agreement. A few more thrusts is all he needed before he’s nearing his limit

“I’m going to fucking c-cum…” he chokes out, in a growl, his hands twisting into your hair, forcing your all the way down his cock- holding you at the base, tongue lapping desperately at his balls. He hunches over you, pressing you deeper into him in ways you didn’t think was possible.

You feel it in an instant, the warm spurts of cum that flow out of him, his hips thrusting in shallow movements as he milks his cock in your throat. Despite gagging and choking around him, you swallow, greedily, trying your best not to waste any last drop.

He pulls you off of him, a filthy web of your saliva and his cum connecting his dick to your lips. You choke and gasp, catching your breath. When you find it, you look to him. He’s smiling wide.

“Damn….” He says, his hand that’s not on your head swipes between you two, collecting some of the fluids that string the two of you together. “Messy lil thing aren’t ya?” He hums, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck the mixture of your saliva and his cum off his fingers.

You giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not my fault you cum so much.” You tease back. He laughs again hands coming to hold your face, “Uh actually yeah it is…you I think you sucked the soul outta me…” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

It’s messy, but he takes his time, his lips moving in a soft rhythm against yours- almost as if it’s a thanks for the orgasm you gave him.

He pulls back, his hands working to readjust your dress and smooth out your hair. His thumb even swipes under your eyes- a feeble attempt to fix your makeup- but an attempt nonetheless.

You jump when you hear a loud knock on the door, you gasp- knocking the door was unlocked. Nam-Gyu moves himself completely in front of you- shielding you from the door if whoever was knocking happened to barge in. “S’okay.” He soothes, looking back to you. “Locked or not these fucking dumbasses know not to enter in here without me telling them to.” He says with a grin. You giggle, your fingernails still lightly raking against his thighs.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, then another round of knocks. “We got an issue that requires your help out here, boss.” The individual calls. Nam-Gyu groans. “Can it fucking wait?” He calls over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No can do! People out back are trying to lowball us for this batch.” The man calls back. Nam-Gyu looks to the door then back to you. “‘m sorry, princess. Gonna have to take a rain check…” He says, a genuine look of upset in his eyes as he realizes he’s going to have to depart from you.

He reaches down to pull you to stand, kissing you once more. This time it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips. You sigh into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours makes your body light up in ways you’ve never felt.

He pulls away, working to pull up his pants and boxers, tucking his semi-hard cock into his pants. You look at his cock, pouting, pressing your thighs together. He looks up to you, then down to your thighs. “‘M sorry sweetness, next time it’s all about you. Consider it the last of your payback for leaving me hanging the first time we met.” He says, taking a step back towards you, his hand coming to the back of your neck, pulling you to him and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You coming boss??” The voice calls impatiently from behind the door. “For fucks sake!! Yes. Give me a damn minute.” He yells over his shoulder.

“Wait I don’t have your number. I’m not going to find you again” You say, eyebrows knitted in a worried expression- you lost him once and with dick this good- you couldn’t lose him again.

He finishes up buckling his belt, looking to the wall and into the cracked and dirty mirror that hung there to straighten up his hair. Another loud knock comes at the door. “I’ll be there in a fucking second!” He seethes at the door. “Knock again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” He yells in an enraged voice. His face twisted in an annoyed and enraged scowl- a genuine hatred in his eyes that has you scared. The way he was saying it showed that if another knock came, there would be someone’s blood painting the wall.

However, when he turns around to you his face immediately softens. He hurries over to you, his hands cupping your face and shaking his head. “Not gonna have to worry about that, sweet thing.” He coos, brushing your hair, helping to smooth out the evidence of how much he just wrecked you. “I have your number, remember. Promise I’ll text you.” He says with a grin, kissing you once more.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He hands you a couple 20’s. “You get home safe. Cabs on me.” He says looking at the bills in your hand before shrugging, placing even more 20’s down into the pile- way more than what you needed for cab fair. “And tomorrow get yourself a gift- on me as well.” He says winking.

Before you can respond he’s walking over to the door of his office and whipping the door open, yelling at the person who was knocking for not having any patience. He pushes the individual who was knocking back from the door way immediately so they wouldn’t see you in your less than appropriate form.

You stand there, heart thudding in your chest as you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You open your phone to many missed messages and calls from your friends. Gathering your things, you call them as you walk out to hail a cab- ready to relay all the details about who exactly gave you the VIP wristband.

Tag List: @heyitsayjayy , @chxrrybomb22 , @ziallgff , @ametheslime , @hornyfordaryldixon (( let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for the last part <3 ))

[gingernut1314]

X's and O's

Summary: Luffy loves physical affection

Content: gender-neutral reader, headcanon mixed with drabble, Luffy's love language slightly expanded on

Word Count: 540+

A/N: Just a small thought I've had for a little while now. It's a little short just cause I don't have too much time to write at the moment but I really needed to write something so here it is lol. I hope you enjoy! (also I didn't read this back over because I'm posting this while I hide away from family, but I'll look it over later)

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We all know Luffy loves physical affection

He’s attacking you in hugs any chance he gets

Holding your hand and hanging onto your front and back like a stretchy limbed baby koala 

But I think he’s also a big kisser

And not just small little peaks on the cheek

No no

Big old, wet, smacking kisses

Those attacked hugs that send you flying into things and onto the ground are going to be accompanied by kiss after kiss after kiss

Kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, neck, collarbones, shoulders, and lips

He’s kissing you anywhere he can get at

Kisses are just another form of affection he thinks he should be able to give to the people he loves

He has no true sense of boundaries whatsoever so if you're not into his type of affection you’re gonna have to shout it at him 

He may look at you like a scolded little puppy

But he’ll find another way to shower you in lover in no time

The first time Luffy kissed you, you were stunned. You weren’t sure if he had meant it romantically or not, but you allowed it because it made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Luffy always had that effect on you. On everyone he cared for, it seemed. 

He was happiness incarnate and his kisses only further solidified that. 

You found yourself seeking Luffy’s affection more and more, especially after days when everything seemed to be wrong. 

And Luffy, of course, was always more than happy to shower you with hugs and kisses

But today, you weren’t the one doing the seeking. 

No, Luffy was on the hunt for you. A hunt you were only alerted to by the cheerful shout of your name from across the deck of the Sunny. 

You perked up instantly at the sound, knowing what was to come in mere seconds. 

Robin perked up as well, blue eyes looking from the book she was reading towards where you sat next to her. A small smile tugged at her lips as Luffy shouted for you again. 

“Looks like Captain’s searching for you.” She mused, watching as you quickly placed your drink down before going to get up. 

“Yeah and I better--” But before you could even finish your thought, your name was shouted once more. A shout that was growing closer in a split second you didn’t even have time to try to stand up before Luffy was flinging himself at you. 

An Oofed huffed of air was knocked out of your lungs as you were shoved right back into your chair, the wood it was made up of groaning at the sharp movement. 

Arms were stretched round and round your waist, hand holding you tight. Legs did the said as kiss after kiss was planted to your face. 

“Lu--” His warm, chapped lips kissed your own. “--ffy.” You finished when lips kissed at your cheek. “What’s all this for?” You asked when he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. Luffy gave that mishvious laugh of his, lips kissing at your neck. 

“I was just thinkin’ about how much I love you.” He pulled away to smile brightly down at you. “Just wanted to let you know.”

More Like This: As Happy As A Cat In The Sun {Luffy x gn!reader}

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR ★彡PART 5

Prev. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: a lot of media attention and some solo time isn’t enough to keep paige away from you.

A/n: one more chap after this then we done 😛

YOU WAKE UP with a pounding headache, not as engulfing as last night but still enough to induce a groan as you lift your head from your pillow.

The hotel-white pillowcase is smeared with residual makeup and your hair feels tangled and unruly. It was surprising how well you slept, seeing as multiple things had happened the night before that should’ve kept you up till morning. You look around to see the hotel room is empty, then check your phone for the time. It’s 1:34pm, you’ve slept into the afternoon.

Your phone is absolutely filled with notifications.

JUJU-KINS😘

U up?

Coach is lit tweaking rn

U bouta be getting media trained FOR LIFE

ELAINEY 🤞

hey

can we talk pls?

ur only in town for a couple more days

it’s not as bad as it seems i swear

i was drunk

COACH

Call me when you see this message.

I hope you already know what you’ve done wrong so I don’t have to waste my time.

You’re smarter than this!

Collapsing on your bed again, you bury yourself in the sheets. Being in Connecticut had just turned out to be a nightmare, you’ve barely interacted with your teammates, your friendship with Elaine was ruined, you’ve had the most confusing relationship with Paige and you’ve made a fool of yourself online.

You shoot a quick text to Juju as well as some other teammates who’ve checked up on you, being sure to ignore Elaine’s texts. You find yourself re-reading your messages with Paige, thankfully your drunk brain hadn’t texted anything too out of pocket, and though you clearly remember her typing after your last message she hadn’t responded since then.

Your call with Coach was the most dreaded of all, you truly respected and feared her, so sitting through an almost half-hour phone call about your responsibilities, failures, expectations and repercussions was awful.

In short, you were to be off of social media until back in state, live privileges were fully revoked, if you were to be found partying and clubbing you’d be in massive trouble, you had to issue a statement on Instagram and twitter (which was pre-written by some professional), and the next practice you participate in will be the worst practice you’ve ever experienced in the history of bad practices. Most probably an insane amount of sprints.

You release your statements on Instagram and Twitter, but before deleting the apps you check out Paige’s comments. She’d obviously received a similar order. Her Instagram story consisted of a black screen and a small box of text, simply entailing how spreading love and positivity while uplifting other players is an obligation she intends to follow from this point onwards.

Her twitter had two new tweets:

paigebueckers1 : Me and (Name) have had some truly special experiences in college basketball. She’s an amazing player who is only gonna go higher and get better as she grows. When I was a junior I was stuck in crutches hoping for the chance I have now. (Name) as a junior herself is absolutely killing it on the court and I for one will always be rooting for her, competitive comments online or not. Keep doin what you’re doin @yourusername !

paigebueckers1 : God is good! 🙏

Turning your phone off, the only thing you’re thinking is ‘you’re so full of shit.’

You wonder if she wrote that herself or if somebody wrote it for her and made it seem like it was her own typing. Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore. You’d had your experience with the Big East Champion, and it was enough for a lifetime.

The amount of content coming out regarding you and Paige was insanely overwhelming. Debates online regarding your skills, looks, personality and basically anything the public can grasp were rampant. You and Paige had been a bit of a scandal ever since she shaded you on that panel, and the media had been seriously following you two back and forth between the seemingly friendly interactions and more hostile ones.

Eventually you stumble upon something different. A video of you and Paige in the background of KK and Ice’s live that day in the coffee shop. You can see yourself fumbling with napkins, and Paige approaching. It’s almost entrancing to see everything play out from another perspective, to see how her face eases into a smile at your smartass comments, to relive your own amused emotion at her stare, to watch Paige speedily write her number on a napkin before the camera shifts and the live ends.

You’re unsure how to react to all of this. No matter how close or far you could get with Paige, would it ever amount to anything? To the slightest bit of trust? Her lips were almost on yours that evening in the street, but just an hour earlier she had lied to your face about knowing Elaine.

You recall what Elaine drunkenly spat out during your argument outside the bar.

“N’ I’ll tell you what. She’s going to play your ass and you’re never gonna get over it, cus that’s what she does.”

Was this spoken out of experience, or a mixture of jealousy and intoxication? Had Elaine once been that girl on the street, inches away?

You can’t help but think it wasn’t the case. Paige bit her tongue around you to stifle a laugh or to hold back a rebuttal to your teasing. When it came to Elaine, Paige bit her tongue in a different way. A loathing way. You couldn’t explain it.

Plus, Elaine had said herself that you were not Paige’s usual type. If she meant you and her were not alike, that was the truth. You and Paige had more of a history, more similar lifestyles and experiences, more. At least you assumed so.

Finally, you decide you’ve done enough thinking for the day. It was time to line up some plans, maybe meet up with the team for a couple hours and then hoop solo in the evening. Anything to distract from the situation.

-

The sound of a basketball against the blacktop, the hollow bounce that always found itself back to your hand. It’s sustenance to you, it’s breathing.

Storrs had been blessed with a hotter Sunday then usual, even in your shorts and t-shirt you were sweating, shooting hoops the same way you’ve been doing since you were a child.

The court was empty and outdoors, perfect for you to hold the ball for a moment and admire the scenery, the changing colours of the sky as afternoon fades to evening.

You hear the bounce of a ball again, but yours is secured in your hand.

“Hey.”

You’re not surprised to see her. The sink in your stomach as you meet her eyes in almost predictable.

“What are the chances.” You scoff. “Don’t you have like, the entire UConn gym to hoop?”

“I come to this court all the time.” Paige narrows her eyes. “It’s usually peaceful.”

“I figured.” You say curtly, turning your head to see the setting sun. It was very peaceful, even with the impending silence between you and the blonde.

“How drunk were you last night?” Paige asks.

You spin around to give her a look. “Drunk enough to get on live,” You scoff. “but sober enough to read a text and send it without regrets.”

At the mention of your short conversation with Paige over text, you can see her cringe. She obviously hadn’t been expecting you to find out about her relationship with your friend, let alone be so upfront with it.

“I never fucked her in my car…just so you know.” She finally manages to breath out.

You almost bark out a laugh at this. “You think I’m mad cus you fucked her?” You ask, walking towards Paige and lightly dribbling the ball. She simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Are you not?”

“Is the blonde fucking seeping into your head?” You snap, mentally celebrating as her lips forms a straight line. “If you don’t know, you better figure it out.”

Paige brings a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead as if it’s aching. Her eyes are wide and analyzing you, thinking of the best way to respond.

“Go on,” you tease her. “tell me why I’m mad.”

You’re close to her now, too close for comfort. You can see her smile lines, her plush lips, her silver chain glinting beneath the black long sleeve she’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up, and you can’t help but noticed how veiny her arms are, how her long fingers are holding the basketball against her body.

Biting her lip, Paige finally responds. “You’re mad because I lied.”

“Smart girl.” You scoff, almost choking on your breath when her jaw clenches at your comment. “I’m mad cus you lied to my face. And cus you went on live and shit talked me again for no reason.”

You and her stare at each other for a long moment before she breaks a smile. “That was my bad.” She murmurs. “I was uh, Ion’ know. I was in sum kinda mood.”

“The mood to lie?” You raise your eyebrow. “Or the mood to be a bitch?”

“Don’t call me a bitch.” She scowls, and you’re reminded of the last time you called her that, at the end of your game against UConn.

“That’s what you are, Bueckers.” You say with a smile, eyeing her down and getting in her face just a little more. “Bitches lie, bitches make problems out of nothing.”

Her eye is fiercely trained on you, on the way your lips move as you degrade her. You can’t tell what she’s thinking in the slightest.

“(Name), I’m sorry.” She says softly.

Once again you two are staring in silence. The proximity is intoxicating, you can practically smell her clean clothes.

“Are you still fucking Elaine?”

“Hell no.” Paige shakes her head furiously. “That ended a while ago. We haven’t talked in like months.”

“She still has your location.” You grumble. “That’s how she knew I was with you at the restaurant.”

“Shit.” Paige groans, immediately pulling out her phone. “She interrupted us on purpose then? Psycho.”

You watch as she turns off her location for Elaine and blocks her before slipping her phone back in her pocket.

“We didn’t hookup for long.” Paige says, obviously feeling the need to explain herself. “Jus a couple times. I broke things off, she couldn’t accept how busy my schedule was.”

You shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Guess she couldn’t accept you and me either, huh?” Paige smirks, shooting you a ‘forgive me’ type look.

Ignoring the swell in your heart at the stupid comment, you just chuckle and shake your head.

“Do you wanna 1v1?” She asks almost sheepishly.

You think for a moment.

“You sure I’m on your level?”

Paige looks embarrassed for a moment, remembering what she said on her live. “Quit playin.” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

-

You’d be lying if you were to say you knew the score.

Was she taking score? You and Paige were equally insanely competitive, but this wasn’t a true test of skill. This was a test of endurance. A test to see who would break first.

You knew this when her hand grazed your waist as she darted past you to the other end of the court, or when she stared you down, tongue between her lips as she blocked your shot. You retaliated yourself, letting your hand linger a bit too long as you helped her up from the ground after tripping her up, or whistling at her as she makes another three.

The heavy breathing, the piercing stares, the cold air as the sun disappeared. You were in a zone you’d never been in before, somehow equally focused on the game and the girl.

You manage to steal the ball from Paige in a swift moment, but suddenly she’s in front of you again. Her hands dart for the ball, attempting to smack it out of your hand. She almost manages to steal it back, but your grip tightens just at the right moment.

She’s stuck to you, her hands attempting to pry the ball out of your own. You can hear her breath, you can see the beaded sweat on her forehead, you can feel her blue eyes watching you, watching your chest widen and shrink with every inhale and exhale, watching your lips.

It’s a replay of the college game that started all of this.

You struggle for a moment longer before the tousle is not longer controlled, the ball slips between both of your sweaty hands. You and Paige both scramble to save it, but it bounces out of your grasps and away from the court.

Neither of you chase after it.

She’s still up close to you, face flushed from the game.

“What was the score?” She huffs, out of breath. Paige’s voice is raspy and tired. You feel something spark inside of you.

“No clue.”

Paige’s face breaks into a small smirk as her hands find your waist, uncertain and soft, just barely ghosting your frame. “That was my ball.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, your heart hammering at the feeling of her eyes exploring every part of you, lingering on your lips before she finally leans in.

Paige’s lips are rough against yours, but fit perfectly as if moulded for your own. She melts into you, her hands finally tightening around your body, her face tilting just right so she can finally taste you. It’s something you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. She kisses with a million emotions, with urgency, passion and the slightest bit of control. It’s electrical.

When you need to break the kiss to breath, you simply tug on her ponytail. You were not expecting the slight whimper as your lips part.

“M’ not done.” She mutters against you, catching her breath.

“I want you, P.” You whisper, looking up at her. Paige’s face immediately changes at this, lips tilting upward in an annoyingly charismatic way.

“I know you do, baby.” She murmurs. “Let me take you home.”

[021894s]

— 16 petty [1.3k W]

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

PAIRING: brothers bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: talks of revenge

AUTHORS NOTE: a little short chap but it ends on a little cliffhanger to get you all excited for 17🤗

Under the dappled shade of ancient trees, the gentle murmur of conversation blended with the rustling leaves and distant bird calls. You sat among friends, the air filled with the scent of pine and the earthy promise of an impending rain. It was a scene stolen from a painting, where time seemed to slow and the world outside this circle of companionship faded to a mere whisper.

Ningning's voice, warm and inviting, cut through the calm. "So how did everyone here meet?" Her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds, and all eyes turned to you.

You hesitated for a brief moment, the memories flooding back. "U-um, Heeseung pretty much introduced me to everyone here except those three over there," you said, pointing to Niki, Sunoo, and Jungwon. The names felt like a roll call of your shared pasts.

"Aww, so you and Heeseung are close?" Ningning prodded, her curiosity painting her words with genuine interest.

"Yeah, I mean, I never got the sister I wanted, so I had to settle for him," you joked, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "And it's kinda hard not to get close with everyone with him throwing parties every other weekend." You shared a laugh with Ningning, the sound mingling with the symphony of nature around you.

The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, a brief interlude before Ningning's voice once again filled the space. "Can I ask you guys a question?"

"Yeah," came the chorus of replies, a harmony of openness and anticipation.

"Is Sunghoon seeing anyone else? He's so distant, and it feels like he only wants me around when something's on his mind," Ningning confessed, her words laced with a vulnerability that tugged at your heart.

You felt a jolt, a shock that rippled across your face, but it was Saerom who noticed, interpreting your expression as a cue to speak. "I wouldn't worry, he's a frat boy and doesn't know anything about being in a relationship, if that's what this is, of course," Saerom said, her tone dismissive yet not unkind.

"At first, I thought it was just sex, but when he invited me here, it felt like there was something more?" Ningning pondered aloud, her confusion mirroring your own.

The weight of the conversation pressed down on you, and without a small “excuse me”, you stood up, making your way inside.

the heaviness of Ningning's words clinged to you like a second skin. The kitchen was a sanctuary, a place of solace away from the tangled web of emotions outside. As you entered, the coolness of the room enveloped you, a stark contrast to the warmth of the gathering.

The clink of dishes and the soft hum of the refrigerator were your only companions as you began to busy yourself with a glass of water. The tap ran cold and clear, the sound soothing in its monotony. The water danced over your hands, downing it in one go, washing away the residue of the conversation.

Lost in thought, you didn't hear Sunghoon enter, his presence a silent shadow until he was beside you. "you ok?," he said, his voice a soft intrusion.

You jumped slightly, the surprise etching itself onto your face. "i’m fine, " you said, your heart still racing from the unexpected company.

You turn away from the comfort of the kitchen, the sanctuary it provided now feeling too small, too intimate. With a deep breath, you move past Sunghoon, the space between you charged with an energy you dare not acknowledge. Your shoulders nearly brush, a whisper of contact that sends a shiver down your spine. You keep your gaze firmly ahead, the stairs to your room calling you to the safety of solitude.

Sunghoon sighs, the sound heavy with things left unsaid, his eyes lingering on the space you just vacated. He stands motionless, lost in whatever thoughts are swirling through his mind, the moment stretching out like a thread pulled too tight.

It's Jake's voice that snaps him back to reality, a touch of annoyance lacing his words, "Dude, can you move out the way?" Sunghoon quickly moves to set everything on the counter, mind still fogged with the interaction you just had.

everyone one is outside mingling, awaiting the feast they’re about to have when you hear a gentle knock on the door, followed by the soft creak of hinges as your met with saerom, her presence a soothing balm to the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. She sits beside you on the bed, her voice a tender whisper, "I'm sorry you had to hear about ningning and Sunghoon's whole ordeal."

You draw in a shaky breath, the confusion within you cresting like a wave. "I don't understand why I'm feeling this way," you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Every time I see Sunghoon, it's like I'm instantly brought back to that night we shared—the way he made me feel." You pause, the memory vivid, searing. "It was unlike anything I've ever felt before."

Saerom listens, her eyes filled with empathy as she takes your hand in hers. "Seeing him so cozy and openly with another girl is hard," you continue, the admission a whisper of vulnerability, "and I can't quite grasp why." The room is filled with your shared silence, a testament to the complexity of the human heart.

Got it, let's go with that plot twist. Saerom, with a knowing glint in her eye, leans back against the headboard, her voice laced with a hint of mischief. "Sunghoon can be such an idiot sometimes. He's just an inconsiderate jerk, you know?"

You can't help but let out a small laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "Yeah, you're right," you agree, feeling a sense of solidarity in Saerom's blunt assessment.

With a playful smirk, Saerom suddenly sits up straighter, an idea sparking in her eyes. "What if you invited a guy friend over? Just to be petty and show Sunghoon that he's also easy to forget," she suggests, the corners of her lips tugging upward in a mischievous smile.

Even though you know it's not really the case, the idea of turning the tables on Sunghoon, if only to make a point, has its appeal. The plot thickens as you consider Saerom's suggestion, the wheels of your intricate story turning.

With a deep breath, you muster up a smile, not allowing the previous tension to cast a shadow over the rest of the evening. As you follow Saerom down the stairs and outside, the savory aroma of the food the guys prepared wafts through the air, a gentle reminder of the warmth and camaraderie that fills the air.

The laughter and chatter of your friends greet you as you reenter the backyard, the heart of the home, where memories are often made. You glance around at the faces you adore the most, a sense of gratitude washing over you. Sunghoon is there too, and for a moment, you lock eyes, a silent acknowledgment passing between you before you both focus on the feast before you.

The table is a colorful display of everyone's efforts, a mix of dishes that somehow come together to form a perfect ensemble. You take your seat, the laughter and stories flowing as freely as the drinks, each bite of the lovingly prepared food grounding you back to the present, to the joy of shared experiences and the unspoken bonds that tie you all together.

Tonight, you decide, is about the memories, the laughter, and the love that surrounds you. The complications of the heart can wait for another day. For now, there's joy to be found in the simple act of enjoying a meal with the people who mean the most.

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog @ihrtgyuuu @purennn @hoonharem @g0niki @hearts4itoshi @yongbokified @shuichi-sama @xiaoderrrr @hongshuaknow @skylalyla @yzzyhee @jwnghyuns @seokseokjinkim @syzavxy @xrvrqs @soulvrrs @velvetkisscs @ak-aa-li @eneiyri @starlvcieszsq @meowmeowjang @hanhaeji @moonlighthoon @gaylilseokie @seunghancore @heelovesmeknot @nyfwyeonjun @kookify @jayhoonvroom @heesminee3 @charlizefaye @mooniikay @ccrriiied @nikiswifiee @heemilktea @yorukoshii @sumzysworld @glxzillx

[cherry-pop-elf]

What Kissing The Weasley Siblings Feels Like

Warnings: Fluff, Sensual, a little risky, no smut, graphic descriptions of lips and smoochies. 16+? Think that works

Writing Commissions Open

William ‘Bill’

Given half his face is missing he doesn’t really like giving kisses. It’s awkward, and strange. To only have half your mouth. How his lips are never able to be soft, or how there is so much teeth. Despite it, you would always kiss the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be kissed, and that is simply that. You find a way, and doing so warms his soul. One day, he finally gets brave enough to return a kiss. It’s awkward, it’s strange, but his intent is all that matters. He was horribly anxious, but followed through. Besides. A little tongue makes it more fun anyway. Whenever the full moon gets closer, you expect getting nothing but tongue and teeth anyway. What’s some more?

Charlie

Warm. They are always so warm, and chapped from the heat. He works with dragons all day, and you can always taste the ash on his breath. He’s a passionate man. He is so intense. Every kiss is like being swallowed whole by the embers of the very dragons he has tamed. He’s so passionate. A man that would lift you off your feet, and have you arched in his strong hands. As if he is trying to consume you, and lick your skin like an angry fire. He is a man that knows what he wants. What he wants is to make sure you know he loves you. He wants you so very bad

Percy

He’s always been quite the prim and proper type. His kisses tend to be quick, short, and almost sharp. Like a peck to the cheek. He has just always had trouble showing affection, but you knew that when you signed up with him. So it wasn’t like he manipulated you into thinking one thing over the other. Regardless, he does try. When his lips do find yours, they are nice. His lips are honestly softer than you expect. He always did take good care of himself after all. They never last to long, but you enjoy them while you can. He’s stepping out of his comfort zone, and you are proud of him for doing such. That’s what matters, after all. You’ll get more. You know you will.

Fred

He’s an intense fella. He likes to plaster you in little kisses, before becoming a living cartoon and dipping you into a passionate embrace. He loves to use kisses to fluster your soul, and be playful in soaking you in little ones. You swear every time you meet he makes sure to leave a kiss on you somewhere. His lips are warm, and a bit chapped. He works with fire works all day, kinda a given. Always the taste of ash on his tongue, but you are fine with it. You just adore how he’s always excited to give you kisses. Each other so alive. He’s just in love. What can he say?

George

Similar to his twin, but still his own person entirely. He’s a bit more emotional. He likes to let kiss be a bit gentler, and lets them last longer. He would trail soft kisses from your cheek, ghost your lips, and go to the next cheek. Then slap a long passionate one, right on your lips. He likes showing his emotions through his lips. Short kisses of excitement, long kisses of need, ghosting to tease. He loves to make use of his mouth, what can he say? He does more than talk your ear off about his latest invention. Mans knows how to work those lips to his advantage. In all the right places.

Ron

He’s an awkward guy. His kisses are either shy, or way too much mouth. You kinda have to teach him. As if either of you complain. He’s just a little dork. YOUR dork. Once he gets his footing, he’s enjoying himself. He still uses more mouth than lips, but you’ve grown to rather love it. How he’s just starving to have you. Even if you were gone just a few minutes. How he utterly craves your touch. It’s addictive. You’ve grown to adore those sloppy kisses he has to offer. They are HIS kisses after all. It makes him all the more special. He’s your dorky guy. All yours, and all his kisses belong to you. So hungry, and devouring.

Ginny

She’s a professional Quidditch player. Do not expect her lips not to be cracked, bloody, dry, what have you. Doesn’t mean her kisses are any less adored. She’s one for quick pecks, as she’s always running off somewhere to do something. You are in love with a Jock. A Weasley Jock no less. Regardless, she knows how to kiss. She knows that sometimes you deserve longer smooches. She does, however, enjoy cheek kisses. She loves giving cheek kisses. Platonic, romantic, she’s a cheek kisser. She will hug you tight, and plant multiple cheek kisses all over you, when she’s really excited. She’s the child of six older brothers. She’s a bit aggressive, but that’s what made you fall in love with her. Ain’t that right?

[thebigbadbatswife]

Love and Hot Chocolate

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary - During a winter patrol, Bruce brings you hot chocolate and finally confesses his feelings.

Warnings -Love confessions, First kiss, Tooth-rotting fluff, Childhood friends, Cheesy, Requited love

Word Count - 1.6k

Patrol in the middle of winter was hell. At least, that was how you felt about it. Even with the thermal layers of your suit, it felt like harsh cold was penetrating through them. You were going to turn into a human icicle and it wasn’t even Mister Freeze’s fault this time around.

It likely didn’t help that you had stopped, for the time being. The streets were silent and empty tonight. It had been well over a couple of hours since you had last seen a car on the roads, let alone a person walking the street. You seriously doubted that anything was going to be happening tonight. There was no need for patrol tonight meanwhile your crime fighting partner disagreed.

You had no idea where Bruce was right now. He had vanished on you without saying a word as to where he was going. He was infuriating like that, but you loved him so you gave him a pass. You knew how much that he worried over the city he loved so much. If he had just the smallest inkling that something was wrong he would stay out until dawn, chasing down any and every lead he came across.

In turn you worried over him. Which was exactly why you were still out here instead of returning to the warmth of the manor. Even if you didn’t know his exact location right now, you still weren’t going to leave him out here alone. So you stayed up here, your legs dangling over the edge, on the top of Wayne Tower. He would come and find you soon enough.

Sooner rather than later, as it turned out.

Behind you there was the flutter of a cape accompanied by the sound of heavy boots landing on the roof.

“Took you long enough,” you said.

“Sorry. It took me longer than I thought it would to find what I was looking for,” he replied. 

Your brow furrowed as you pouted. You looked over your shoulder at him, to find him holding two takeout coffee cups. “Coffee? How long are we staying out here?”

“It’s not coffee.” 

He walked forward and handed you one of the cups, before he sat down next to you. As you raised the cup toward your mouth, the smell of chocolate hit you. Hot chocolate. Curious, you popped the lid off and discovered melting marshmallows. 

“Hot chocolate and marshmallows? You’re spoiling me.”

Bruce smiled at you as you took a sip, humming at the rich taste. It was that soft, tender, genuine smile that he only seemed to reserve for you. 

“You deserve to be spoiled.”

You looked up at him. There had always been something unspoken between the two of you. A past filled with unspoken words, longing gazes and hidden touches. Neither of you ever did anything about it. He was so wrapped up in his crusade and transforming his company in order to better Gotham, Bruce had made it clear he didn’t have the time for a proper relationship. You stayed because of how long you had known him and how much you cared for him.

You wanted him in your life, no matter what that looked like.

He pushed back his cowl, revealing that handsome face of his. The way that he looked at you had your heart picking up its pace. He had never looked at you like that before, but you didn’t dare get your hopes up. There was no way.

“I think I’ve been an idiot,” he started. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I haven’t been paying attention to what’s in front of me.”

He set his cup down while you looked at him wide eyed. Your brain was struggling to process what exactly he was saying. There was no way that this actually happening. Not to you. You wanted to pinch yourself, but the material of your suit was too thick for you to feel it.

Bruce leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The feeling of his chapped lips completely short circuited your brain. There was no time for you to react. As soon as it had happened, it ended as he pulled away.

His brow was furrowed and he looked sheepish. Like he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry. I thought…”

His doubt was enough to kick you back into gear. You set your own cup down and launched yourself at him. Your hands came up to cup his face as you kissed him. His hands came to settle on your waist as he caught you and pulled you onto his lap.

You weren’t sure how long you were there. Your lips locked together as his tongue caressed yours. It felt so right. Like you were made for each other. Designed to fit like two perfect puzzle pieces. It was long enough that the lack of oxygen almost had you feeling dizzy.

Unwillingly, you parted from him. Gasping to let oxygen circulate back in your lungs again. Your lips stayed close together. Neither of you were willing to put too much space between you. 

“Took you long enough,” you laughed. Bruce laughed as well.

“I know,” he replied. He rubbed his nose against yours. “And I know I have a lot of time to make up for and I will. Starting with dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. We’re ending patrol early tonight and going back to the manor where Alfred’s preparing dinner. What do you say?”

“I’d love that, Bruce.”

You reached for your cup, but you were stopped by Bruce’s hands on your waist. You frowned.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“Nothing, I just…” He huffed and looked away from you. “I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid.”

With your fingers against his jawline, you directed him back to you. “What’s wrong?” you repeated.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gazed into your eyes, searching your own like he was looking for something. What, you didn’t know. One hand came up to cup your jaw this time. His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone.

“You’re one of the only constants I’ve had in my life. One of the only people I know I can confide in. You don’t take any of my shit, but you’re always there when I really need you. Even when I presented my plan to save Gotham. I mean, you joined me when I was sure that you and Alfred were teaming up to have me locked away. 

You’ve done so much for me and I’ve been so blind to it. So caught up in my own stuff that I didn’t even realise…” 

He broke eye contact for a moment, closing his eyes again to take another deep breath. You opened your mouth to say something, but it died in your throat when he pressed a finger to your lips.

“Please, let me finish first?” he asked. 

You nodded.

“Thank you. I know I’m rambling and maybe not making much sense. Like I said, I’m no good at this, but I need you to know… I need you to know that I love you. I always have and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to realise that. I’m such a—“

You silenced him with a kiss. You refused to hear him call himself an idiot again.

“If you’re an idiot, then so am I. I could have said something at any point, but I didn’t. Suppose that makes us pretty perfect for each other,��� you laughed softly, which even got Bruce smiling. “I love you too, Bruce.”

He looked like you had just served the world to him on a silver platter. Unknown to you, in his eyes, you really had. His lips found yours again. Much like the first, this kiss was long and passionate. Blood rushed through your veins and all you wanted was more. But the bitterly cold wind sent shivers up both of your spines and reminded you of the sweet drink that Bruce had painstakingly searched a, for once, peaceful city for.

You stayed curled up on his lap as you both drank your hot chocolates. It was amazing what the warmth of the drink did to chase away Gotham’s cold. He had long since pulled his cowl back on. Despite being so high up off the ground, he didn’t want to risk someone potentially seeing him without the cowl.

Your comms crackled to life.

“I do hope you two are planning to come back to the manor sometime soon. Dinner will become cold otherwise.”  

Alfred’s voice filled both yours and Bruce’s ears. You shared a look and laughed softly.

“We’ll be home soon, Alfred,” Bruce replied. 

He responded with a hum and the line fell dead once more.

“It’s got to be said, he has great timing.” You held up your cup and shook it side to side. There was no sound of liquid sloshing. It was empty. “I’m all out.”

Bruce took the cup from your hand and set it along side his. “We should get going then.”

You moved off of his lap and he stood up before holding out a hand for you. You took it, letting him pull you up. He didn’t let go of it as he led toward the back of the building. 

When you got the edge, he pulled you close to his body. His arm wrapped around your waist and secured you against him. You had done this move together many times in the past, but this time it felt way more intimate. 

“Ready?” he asked, like he always did. He wouldn’t jump until you were completely ready to. 

“I’ve never been more ready.”

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER EIGHT: CONNECTIONS

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SUMMARY ↳ So.. dinner with the family. Yikes. Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping. You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: subtle "accusations" of cheating wc: 4.4k NOTICE: im gonna start adding my notes/end notes on ao3 from now on if i have any. they just include my yapping (the beginning notes are usually just warnings anyway) i might go back and add them to previous chaps, might not.

You actually spend the next morning skipping your first classes in exchange for visiting the Den. You’ve had perfect attendance so far, so you’re only grievance is that you won’t be able to brag about it anymore. You’ll send in an excuse note later.

The reason for your absence is to take note of what you need for the badassium. Karen lists things off for you as you write them on a little note. A lot of it is high-grade expensive stuff. If Victoria can’t get it for you, you’ll just ask her for the money to get it yourself. Or just ask her where you can steal it.

You arrive only a tad bit late to ballet class. That’s a lie, there’s five minutes left till the bell. The teacher barely notices, too occupied with scolding some of the other kids. Victoria sees you enter and scurries over.

“Where were you?” she asks.

You pull out the list, holding it up to her. “Making this.” You hold it out to her. “It’s a list of all the stuff I need. You wanna help me? Get me these.”

She takes the paper, looking it over. “What is it?”

“Materials I need. I’m building something really important.” Victoria’s eyes roam the sheet, before nodding and tucking it into her bra.

“How fast do you need them?”

“As fast as you can get them without raising suspicion. If you can’t get them, either give me the money or tell me where I can pick it up myself.”

Victoria raises a brow. “You’d steal it?”

You shrug. “What, like it’s hard?”

She huffs is disbelief. She’ll get used to you soon enough. The bell rings, and you and Victoria walk out together. “My staff are very discreet,” she reassures. “I will get it to you.”

“Drop it off at this location,” you text her the address. It’s an old apartment close to your Den. No one lives there, you made sure.

Determined to be of use, she nods. You wave her goodbye as you drop her off. Since you missed first period, you’ll only get to see Damian at the end of the day. You also missed lunch, so there goes your most fulfilling meal of the day.

You’re beginning to feel like a zombie. You’ve always been isolated from your peers, not on purpose, most of the time. Your mind is simply far beyond theirs in every universe, it seems. It’s why you started online classes, you simply just couldn’t stand being in school with others. It was just so boring . Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck in class. Life’s rough. Maybe you should start skipping more often. You can definitely catch up, you just have to not miss too many classes.

Ms. M greets you with a bright and cheery disposition, quite the opposite to your current demeanor. You give Ms. M a stiff but polite smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. She’s one of the few teachers you actually like, her passion for the subject always evident.

You place your head down on your desk, feeling the lull of boredom pull you under. As Ms. M begins her lecture, you try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the list of materials and your plans for the badassium. The thought of finally making significant progress makes you giddy.

Luckily for your peace of mind, Ms. M has a short lecture for the day with no assignment. She leaves the class alone for the remainder of the day. You shut your eyes, breathing calm. Feeling the call of sleep, you answer, escaping from the boringness of the day.

Except a finger flicks your ear, rudely disturbing your would-be sleep.

“Damian,” you murmur, rising. “May I help you?”

“Where were you this morning?” He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He never does.

“Not here,” you grumble. “I had to take care of some stuff. And I was kind of thinking about not even coming at all.” It’s true. Most people in their right mind just stay home if they’re even ten minutes late.

Damian picks a piece of lint from your collar. “I thought that perhaps you were affected by Ivy’s abilities. After all, I doubt you are capable of taking care of yourself.”

You cup Damian’s face, making his lips pucker. “Aw, is this your roundabout way of saying you want to take care of me? You’re so sweet.”

He takes your hands into his own, pulling them away. “I didn’t think you the unfaithful type, [Name].”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Considering the compromising position I found you and Victoria in, certainly the two of you are… together?” His face twists as he says the last word. Oh, yeah. You forgot that he walked in on the two of you. The whole carnival thing occupied your thoughts.

“Well, first of all–” you start, placing your hands in your lap, tugging his hands there as well. “–you make it sound like we’re in the regency era and I’ve just compromised the young lady Victoria,” you huff in a British accent, rolling your eyes. “Second of all, what you walked in on was a… confusing situation. We kissed, agreed we were better of as friends, and that’s that. I am not the unfaithful type, fuck you,” you grin. Leaning back, you raise your legs so perch them on his thighs. Surprisingly, he lets you.

“So don’t worry, I’m still available and I would never cheat on you, baby.”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation, before moving to massage your calves. You let your head hang over the edge of your chair, relaxing. Damian’s got skilled hands, he has too. From his background as an assassin and his current occupation as Robin. His fingers work the stress out of your muscles. His hands feel really nice.

“We’ll go to my home to work more on the project,” he mutters, focused on his current task. You hum in contentment, the tension in your muscles melting away under Damian's skilled hands. “Sounds good to me,” you murmur. “Alfred makes really good sandwiches.”

Damian continues to knead your calves for a few more moments before finally stopping. “You’ve become spoiled.”

You laugh softly, sitting up and stretching. “Says the rich one.” You and Damian gather your things as the last bell rings. Stepping outside, you breathe in the cool air. It’s getting colder in Gotham, soon it’ll start snowing. Damian’s hand finds its place on your back, guiding you to the car. You make sure to greet Alfred as you step inside. 

“How’s Jon doing?” you ask. “I hope he isn’t too embarrassed about what happened.”

“Jon is fine. The antidote did it’s part. As for his unnecessary embarrassment…” he trails off, “...you should ask him yourself.”

You tsk. “Useless,” you joke. You have a feeling Jon will do anything to ignore and forget about what happened, so you’re not sure how easy it’ll be to ask him.

Wayne Manor stands before you once again as you arrive. The sprawling estate is both imposing and welcoming, a testament to the Wayne family’s legacy. You step out of the car, feeling a mix of anticipation and exhaustion.

When you enter, you’re greeted by a loud bark. A large dog, a Great Dane, rounds the corner. He trots happily towards Damian, panting. Damian gives him generous pets.

“This is Titus,” he introduces. Titus barks at you in greeting.

You grin reaching out a hand to pet him. “Hi, Titus.” Titus leans into your scritches, making you coo and increase your petting tenfold. 

“Sorry about that! I guess he knew you were here and got excited,” says a voice, rounding the corner. A figure clad is comfy loungewear makes his way over to the two of you. You clock him immediately as none other than Dick Grayson. He bears a charming smile as he approaches.

“You must be Damian’s friend I’ve heard so much about,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it, looking at Damian smugly. “You talk about me, Dami?” You grin as he glares at you.

“I’m his older brother, Dick.”

The urge to make a joke is very strong, but you persevere. Wrong audience. “Nice to meet you. Damian hasn't mentioned you at all," you tease lightly, shooting Damian a playful glance.

Dick chuckles, looking between you and Damian with a knowing expression. "I can see that. Well, if you're Damian's friend, you're welcome here anytime. And it's always nice to meet someone who can keep him on his toes."

You chuckle softly, liking his easygoing demeanor. "Thanks, Dick. I'll do my best to keep him in line."

Damian doesn’t like how you and his brother are plotting against him in front of him, so he grabs you arm and drags you away. “We have work to do, Grayson. Do not bother us.”

Dick grins and winks as you two disappear from view. As Damian drags you away, you shoot Dick a playful wave before disappearing from view. You can hear Dick's laughter echoing behind you, amused.

Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping.

You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

“It seems to be your only talent,” he says, turning to look at you. Your faces are close together, breaths intermingling.

Your playful grin widens at his comment, enjoying the closeness as Damian's gaze meets yours. "Oh, I have plenty of talents," you retort smoothly, teasingly brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Damian's pupils dilate, a glint flickering in his eyes before he regains his composure.

"Is that so?" he challenges, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand, which had been resting on your arm, moves to lightly trace the line of your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You lean into his touch, meeting his gaze with a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. "Mhm," you murmur, your voice low. "But you'll have to stick around to find out all my secrets."

The intensity in Damian's eyes deepens, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. "Maybe I intend to," he replies, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Before the moment can escalate further, a loud bark interrupts the thick atmosphere. Titus, ever the loyal companion, trots over to Damian’s side, breaking the spell between you and Damian. You chuckle softly, pulling back slightly as Damian withdraws his hand.

Damian straightens beside you, brushing his hands down his front. Clearing his throat, grumbles. “We are distracted, we should be working.”

You shrug, easy. “You’re the guide.”

Damian leads you into the same room you worked in the last time you visited. Titus takes perch under the table, settling in and curling up. Today will probably be the last time you’re invited over for a while, if not indefinitely. You’re sure you’ll finish the powerpoint in an hour or so, so you wonder if Damian will kick you out as soon as that happens.

You hand Damian your laptop, since it’s been mostly you doing the actual work, it’s his turn. His fingers fly across the keys as he types. You sit on the table next to him and point out things he should add. You both work in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by your comments and Damian's terse responses. The atmosphere is focused, the earlier playful tension replaced by a shared sense of purpose. 

After an hour or so, you lean back, stretching your arms above your head. "I think that covers everything," you say, looking over the final slide.

Damian gives a final, scrutinizing look at the presentation before nodding in agreement. "It’s comprehensive," he admits, shutting the laptop. "We should be prepared for any questions they throw at us."

"Good," you reply, hopping off the table. "Now that the hard part's done, let's hope the presentation goes smoothly."

Damian closes your laptop and sets it aside. "It will. We've covered every angle. Even if they ask something unexpected, we can handle it."

You smile, appreciating his confidence. You stretch once more, your muscles appreciating the movement after sitting for so long. Titus wakes up from his nap, prancing over to you. You kneel and pet his face generously. He whines when you pull away to gather your stuff.

As you gather your things, you notice Damian watching you with an inscrutable expression. You can't quite read what's going on in his mind, but there's a sense of something unsaid lingering in the air.

“What is it?” you ask.

Damian hesitates, which he seems to do a lot around you. It’s strange to you how someone who appears so sure of himself, so absolute can do such a thing. “What are your plans for your future?”

You blink, taken aback. “Like… after high school?”

He nods, his gaze intense. "Yes. What do you see yourself doing?"

It's a question you haven't given much thought to, caught up as you are in the present challenges. You don’t really want to give it much thought. Being here long enough to go to college makes your stomach turn. You can’t pretend like you have been miserable all this time. You’ve made friends, made a life here. But it’s not your life.

“I haven’t really thought about a college or anything. I know I want to help people,” you say, eyes trailing off. “What do you wanna do?”

Damian’s expression softens. “I want to continue my fathers legacy. Do everything to make the city safer, I suppose. However, I would also like to explore my own interests.”

“I look forward to seeing your art in a museum, Damian,” you declare, facing him.

There's a moment of shared understanding between you, a recognition of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. It's a comforting feeling, knowing that despite your differences, you share a common drive to carve out your own paths.

A polite knock echoes against the door before it opens. Dick pokes his head out with a smile on his face. “Hey, you two. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

You shake your head. “Nah, we just finished.” You shoulder your bag over your shoulder. “I was actually about to head out.”

Dick perks up. “Actually, Alfred wanted to know if you would like to stay for dinner.”

Behind you, Damian freezes and narrows his eyes. “As [Name] was just saying, they were leaving–”

“–Actually I think I will stay for dinner,” you grin at Damian. Only a fool would skip out on a chance to taste Alfred Pennyworth’s cooking. Any pokes and prods about your identity you’ll meet head on, and any chance to embarrass Damian is a good chance.

Dick matches your grin, nodding. “I’ll let him know.” He disappears, closing the door and leaving you two alone

Damian scowls. “Whatever you are planning–”

“I have no wrong intentions whatsoever Damian,” you furrow your brows and place a hand on your chest in mock offense. “I’m offended you think so low of me.”

Damian's scowl deepens, clearly not amused by your teasing. "You always have some ulterior motive," he accuses, crossing his arms.

You step closer, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. "Maybe I just want to enjoy a nice dinner with your family. Is that such a crime?"

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Fine. But don't think I won't be watching you."

You smirk playfully. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

With that settled, you follow Damian out of the room and into the sprawling manor once more. The atmosphere shifts slightly as you join Damian and Titus, walking through the grand halls towards the dining room. You can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and curiosity about what dinner with the Wayne family will entail.

When you step into the room your senses immediately buzz with anticipation, jittering around your skull. Just about every single member of the Batfamily is present. Even goddamn Jason Todd is here, helping Alfred set the table. It boosts your ego a little bit. Bruce Wayne greets you as you enter.

“I’m glad we can have you over,” he smiles. “Damian doesn’t have many friends to bring over.”

You snort at Damian’s grunt. You decide not to push Damian's buttons further in front of his family. For now. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Wayne," you reply politely.

Bruce nods back, his smile warm and welcoming. "Please, call me Bruce. Make yourself at home."

You take your seat at the large table, Damian at one side and Dick at the other. Everyone else settles in as well. Alfred serves the meal, a fancy foreign meal you don’t understand the name of. Damian, of course, gets a vegetarian portion of it.

Jason speaks up first. “You gonna introduce us or what?” He asks Damian. He looks about a second way from pulling out a hidden knife from somewhere, so Dick jumps in to save the day.

“This is [Name], they’re Damian’s classmate and…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “...friend!”

The table erupts in chuckles at Dick's teasing, though Damian remains stoic and unamused. You take the opportunity to greet everyone with a friendly smile and a wave.

"It's nice to meet all of you," you say, trying to match their warm reception despite Damian's icy demeanor.

Tim, who's been quietly observing the interaction, finally speaks up. "So, [Name], Damian's told us a bit about you. How's school been treating you?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts. "It's been... interesting," you reply diplomatically, trying not to reveal too much. "I’m used to online so it’s definitely an experience."

“[Name] takes a ballet class. They are also the lead in the upcoming winter performance,” Damian pipes up, no doubt trying to put you on the spot. Asshole.

Stephanie grins. “No way! Cass does ballet too,” she claps a hand on Cass’s shoulder. Cass nods. She signs ‘what is your favorite move?’ . Barbara opens her mouth, prepared to translate what Cass said, but you beat her to the punch. You respond, fingers moving in practiced efficiency to gesture out your favorite move. Cass grins in approval.

“You know sign?” asks Duke.

“I know a lot of languages,” you smile. It’s true. Many of the Avengers know multiple languages, and they took to teaching you as much as they could. You even learned some Asgardian to impress Thor (he cried). Nat said it was a crucial skill to have.

“Like what?” asks Bruce, leaning in.

You look up as you think. “Russian, Italian, Spanish, some German, some Latin…” you trail off, “...etcetera. My dad has a lot of cool friends.”

A shared look of impressed spreads throughout the room.  Bruce hums, “and what about your father? What does he do?”

“He invents things. Right now he’s on vacation. Don’t remember where exactly he said, but he sends me money every now and again.”

Bruce gets a kind of sour look on his face before nodding. “Ah, sounds like quite the character,” Bruce responds with a nod, trying to maintain his composure. You sense there might be more to Bruce's reaction, perhaps his adoption senses are tingling (God forbid). The dinner conversation continues on lighter notes as everyone shares anecdotes and stories, keeping the atmosphere lively.

“Damian says you also like to invent and program things,” pipes up Dick.

“Yeah, I’m actually working on something right now. It’s pretty big, but hopefully it’s works,” you reply vaguely.

“Your father must be very proud of your accomplishments,” Bruce remarks, his tone measured. He gets a couple of side-eyes.

You nod. “Yeah, he always encourages me to pursue my interests. He’s pretty cool like that.”

Barbara chuckles, "It's always good to have interests outside of school. Keeps things exciting."

Tim nods in agreement, sipping his drink. “Yeah, I dabble in programming too. It’s a useful skill to have.”

After a while, Alfred brings out dessert - a decadent chocolate mousse that looks almost too good to eat. Everyone digs in eagerly, sharing their thoughts on the meal and enjoying the dessert in comfortable chatter.

Throughout the evening, you notice Bruce observing you with a mix of curiosity and concern, as if trying to gauge something beyond your words. His occasional glances toward Damian and Dick imply a silent conversation that you're not privy to, though you catch a few knowing looks exchanged between the brothers.

As the dinner winds down, Alfred discreetly clears away the dishes, signaling the end of the meal. You offer to help with the dishes, but Alfred kindly declines, insisting that you're a guest tonight.

Dick stretches contentedly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled over the table. "Well, it's been great having you over, [Name]. Hope you enjoyed the meal."

"Yeah, thanks for letting me crash dinner," you reply warmly, smiling around the table. "It's been really nice."

Damian stands abruptly. “I believe [Name] should be heading home now,” he states, pointedly ignoring the snickers.

You nod, rising from your seat. "Right. Thanks again for having me, everyone."

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night, [Name],” smirks Tim. “We have plenty of room, though I’m sure Damian would be happy to–” Cass pinches Tim’s ear, interrupting his sentence.

You smile at their antics. “My cat is waiting for me, so I have to pass. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Bruce nods, his expression serious yet not unkind. "Anytime, [Name]. You're welcome here."

With a final round of goodbyes and well-wishes, you follow Damian out of the dining room. The atmosphere between you two is quieter now, the playful tension from earlier replaced by a sense of calm. "You enjoyed yourself tonight," Damian states, more a statement than a question.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, your family's pretty entertaining. I like their dynamic.”

There's a moment of silence as you both stand there, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you and Damian. His gaze meets yours, a mixture of intensity and vulnerability that surprises you.

"You know," you begin, your voice low, "I do really like teasing you, Damian. But I also... appreciate our time together." Your heart beats a little faster as you admit this, feeling vulnerable yet strangely liberated.

Damian's expression softens further, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he looks at you. "I... feel the same," he confesses quietly, almost hesitantly.

Before either of you can say more, the door creaks open, and Dick pokes his head in with a cheeky grin. "Hey, you two. Hate to interrupt, but Alfred’s outside ready to take [Name] home."

Damian straightens abruptly, a hint of irritation flickering across his features. "We'll be there shortly," he replies tersely, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Dick raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Sure thing. Don't keep Alfred waiting too long," he teases before closing the door.

You roll your eyes playfully at Dick's teasing as he disappears, leaving you and Damian alone once more. There's a brief moment where neither of you speaks, the tension palpable in the air. Finally, Damian breaks the silence.

"We should go," he says, his voice low but firm.

You nod in agreement, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has settled between you. "Right. Let's go."

Together, you and Damian make your way out towards the front door of Wayne Manor. The grandeur of the mansion surrounds you, yet it feels less intimidating now, having spent an evening with Damian's family. As you step outside into the cool night air, Alfred waits patiently by the car, ready to drive you home. Damian walks beside you, carrying your stuff, his demeanor slightly tense yet thoughtful.

As you approach the car, Damian walks up to Alfred and mutters to him. Alfred raises a prim brow, handing Damian the keys with a nod. He walks back towards the Manor, where you see the rest of the family either peeking out the door or straight up standing outside looking. You snort. Damian sets your stuff in the backseat, opening the passenger side door for you to enter. You hum in appreciation, sitting inside.

Bruce watches the car drive away, a pinch in his brow.

“I thought Damian liked Jon?” questions Duke.

“He does.” Barbara squints. Tim gestures to the leaving car. “Then what was that?” he asks. Cassandra hums. “He also likes them, he doesn’t know it yet. Or he is just in denial.”

“Well if Cass says it’s so, then it’s so,” nods Stephanie sagely. Alfred leans closer to Bruce. “They may become part of your brood yet.”

"Perhaps," Bruce murmurs quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. Duke leans in, intrigued. "You think they're good for Damian?"

Bruce considers his words carefully before responding. "I think [Name] challenges Damian in ways that are both positive and... complicated."

Inside the car, Damian focuses on the road ahead, his grip tight on the steering wheel. The drive is quiet. You watch as people go on with their lives. Very few people roam the streets at this hour. You steal glances at Damian occasionally, noting the tense set of his jaw and the focused look in his eyes.

As you approach your apartment building, Damian breaks the silence. "I apologize for my family's... curiosity," he says, his voice soft yet tinged with annoyance.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "It's alright, Damian. They just want to get to know me better."

Damian parks the car and turns to face you, his expression unreadable. "They can be... overwhelming at times," he admits reluctantly.

"You're lucky to have them," you remark sincerely.

Damian steps out of the car, grabbing your bag and walking you to the front door. The air feels like a stark contrast to the warmth of Wayne Manor. Damian's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. You lean in slightly, hesitating for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just like last night. Damian freezes for an instant, different to his lack of reaction before.

"Goodnight, Damian," you murmur, pulling back slightly.

"Goodnight, [Name]," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a final smile, you close the door behind you. Damian stands there for a moment longer before driving away into the night. As you enter your apartment, you're greeted by the familiar sight of Nari lounging on the couch. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

‘All of your materials have been delivered to the address.’ is what greets you when you open up Victoria’s chat. You grin, sending a thank you. Your bed feels like heaven as you sink into it. Tomorrow real progress will be made, and you can’t wait.

notes: reader and damian are practically dating already lets be honest they just dont know it yet

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 2

chapter 1

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; . . i am not the boy you knew and you are dead to me you watch someone you know grow into static company - boy (alex g)

2.

your chest ached.

with changing seasons, countless birthdays, the broadening of your consciousness brought an expansion of your body. growing in places that made you walk with a slouch and had your hands tugging at the front of your shirt. the shorts you'd wear during summer turned into your shame whenever your parent(s) would ask you to go and change for something more. . 'appropriate'.

ridiculous, you thought. how could they be inappropriate? they were your favorite pair.

or they used to be.

a man old enough to be your father leered at you while you were out riding your bike. you took them off as soon as you got home. you're sure they sit at the bottom of your closet to this day.

your hands got bigger. your fingers stretched. you got taller. people often told you you looked like your parent(s). you didn't see it.

despite the passage of time, mark was still there.

your parent(s) had long received the grayson's blessing to allow him refuge in your home: playdates whenever he wasn't preoccupied with baseball and important school work. but as the pages of the calendars turned, your parent(s) worried your little playdates had gone on for too long.

however, much like the dilemma your teachers had, no one had the heart - nor the energy - to separate you two. the two of you were entering the age where interest in romance grew and your parent(s) worried. it was cute, at first. when a 6 year old mark would follow you home and your parent(s) would have to contact the graysons, lest they turn the world upside down searching for their one son. or the time in which he'd brought ring-pops and claimed you'd gotten married.

but the fact of the matter was that mark had changed, too. you didn't see it at first. didn't even imagine it could've ever been that way.

mark was a growing boy.

there was evidence of that etched in markings on the wall next to your bedroom door: comparisons of height done in pencil. one with your initial. the other in his. you'd always be surprised when he kept surpassing you inch by inch. and you'd make a face whenever you'd - yet again - failed to keep up. and after your parent(s) wearily watched the two of you engage in hand size comparisons, the door to your bedroom was to remain open at all times.

but the truth of the matter was that there was simply no need.

mark was hardly ever in your bedroom those days. and much to your disappointment - well, why were you? it's not like you didn't see it coming - he'd gotten friends of his own. friends who grew with him in height and mannerism. who'd say big, nasty words and who's eyes would follow girls down the hallway. who he'd sit and rough house with until teachers had enough and sat him next to the most 'well behaved student' - you - despite his huffing. friends who wouldn't spare you a glance even though you were walking with mark. who'd talk directly to mark as if you weren't even there and steal him away with excuses of baseball practice. or simply because they could.

and mark would go.

and once, you felt your face going hot when one of them scoffed, "sorry, are we stealing you away from your girlfriend?"

mark returned the laugh - you didn't know if he knew you heard or not. you also didn't wanna know - and said, "ew."

laughter.

and if you were anyone else you would've thought about throwing his own baseball bat against his back. but all it did was make you sad. it made you angry. it made you embarrassed. and you didn't know why.

mark was a growing boy.

you were growing, too.

but you wanted to stay little for as long as you could. and the dread that came with buying newer clothes each passing year left you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

you obsessed over magazines. the pretty girls on social media who's hair looked perfect. who's teeth were whiter. who's skin looked painted on. you're sure

the others in school shared your sentiment.

soon, you had to preoccupy yourself with shaving your arms or your legs or drinking large amounts of water in order to feel something in your tummy.

but mark. .mark never had to worry about that. he was a growing boy. he didn't have to worry about clothes or skincare. he didn't have to watch what he ate.

he was a growing boy.

who cared if he ate half a dozen donuts in one sitting? he was a growing boy.

who cared if all he did was run a few steps in baseball and eat like a chipmunk all the while remaining the same? he was a growing boy!

who cared if he could burp and sneeze loudly, sit like he'd bought the planet, and go outside at night?

.. certainly not you.

but sometimes you wish -

"it's so fucking hot." mark mumbled, hanging off your bed, voice muffled around his - seventh? - donut.

you stared down at the bowl of cotton candy grapes on your lap.

your teeth ached with need.

- . . you were a. . it was easier.

"yeah." you said, squeezing one of the grapes between your index and thumb until the flesh oozed out, shiny and sticky. "i know."

"you almost done?" he asked, turning onto his stomach and wiping the icing off his hands onto your bedding.

the homework sheets in front of you were nearly done. but you'd need a lot more time to finish homework for the both of you. you wonder if your parents knew that mark coming over to do homework just consisted of him distracting you while you did the work.

and maybe they did.

they were always so forgiving to people who weren't you.

in their eyes, you'd ask for advice if he was really taking advantage of you. and none of that whiny complaining of him being too rough, either.

you should've known what you were getting yourself into when you befriended a boy.

boys will be boys. right?

then, he doesn't know his own strength when you were mad at him when one of his playful shoves sent you staggering in front of his friends.

or, he was trying to be funny! lighten up. when he'd grabbed you and groped at your fleshy sides - also in front of his friends.

and most importantly, the two of you had been best friends for so long, there was no reason why something as innocent as you doing a couple of favors for him could cause such turmoil.

you should be nicer to him. i mean, how many other friends do you have?

and that's what the excuses were about.

your parent(s) felt indebted to him. after all, they didn't have the energy to deal with the tides of your mental state: the complex emotions, highs and lows, that only seemed to become that much more apparent as you entered your teenage years.

you imagined how they must’ve thought of you.

it couldn't be that much different than how everyone else did.

mark is so patient, so good at babysitting poor, socially inept you.

but as long as they didn't have to do the heavy lifting, they figured letting mark keep you was their safest bet. it did you good. mark didn't seem burdened. if anything, he seemed happy. he enjoyed taking care of you. and you knew he did. in fact, when he wasn't around his friends. . he was the mark you grew up with.

kind of.

he was still into the same stuff: comics and superhero movies. as long as it was just the two of you. . it wasn't that bad. he cared for you. and he'd show he wasn't all gone when he'd warned you about boys - who, ironically, seemed to perfectly describe his friend group. 

don't date them, he'd say, and it reminded you of when you'd gotten that ring pop and he told you you were his.

his protective demeanor wasn't a problem when he had the strength of a six year old. but mark wasn't six anymore. the jealous fits weren't as endearing. he was rowdier. moodier. and he'd grown into his body. . meaning he had the mass to back his words up.

but you weren't cowed by him. not much, anyway.

which caused you to push away the pile of homework and snap, "why don't you do your own fucking homework? it's too much."

you knew the most mark would do was sulk and pout. that's all he ever did when you'd be preoccupied with other things. . or grouped with the opposite sex. but there'd be moments in which you'd caught the flicker of darkness in his eyes whenever the two of you had a disagreement.

when you said no.

"i'm tired after baseball." he said, slowly, like it's something you were supposed to know.

"yeah, well, i'm tired, too!" you huffed.

"yeah? of doing what?"

"of thinking for the both of us."

"you calling me dumb?"

"you said it." you muttered under your breath, doodling onto the page to distract you from the annoyance bubbling inside you.

you didn't notice him getting up. he'd have a habit of sneaking up on you. maybe he was just quiet. or you were just too absent minded to notice. but either way, before you knew it, you were lifted off the floor from around your waist.

you don't even get a chance to react before he pinned you to your bed. the shock causing your face to grow hot before you begin to thrash beneath him, spitting out insults and trying to hit him in any soft spot you could.

but he was faster, stronger.

repeating, "i'm stupid?" while fighting you off like it was nothing.

he'd always had better stamina, and soon, you're tired and pinned beneath him.

and then he. .

just froze above you.

mark's world had gone still. he could sense everything. the air shifted around him and all his attention landed on you. he could feel weak throbbing beneath the palm of his hands as he held your wrists in a two handed grip above your head.

he could smell your perfumed skin. hear the blood soaring through your veins. the heat from your face warmed him like a furnace. and the realization slammed into him like a freight train.

he'd gotten his powers.

you'd brought them out of him.

“um. can I get up now?” you'd whispered from beneath him, flustered. your eyes narrowed towards your door, the one your parent(s) demanded you to keep open at all times.

mark blinked.

then, shuffled off of you with burning cheeks.

you watched him hastily sling his school bag over his shoulder and waddle out of the room. confused, you called after him - you had a test to study for for christ's sake! - but he didn't stop.

you scrambled after him.

but like years before, you couldn't keep up.

he was gone before you even made it out into the hallway.

CHAPTER 3

[woobiedoovo]

teen!ford chasing old!stan, who is oblivious to just how intensely ford lusts after him and keeps treating ford like a little brother/son!!!!!!!!!!!! head pats and praises and walking around in his slutty little tank top and boxers bc he's an old man who doesnt have to worry abt someone perving on him, completely unaware of the way ford eyes him so dirtily!!!!

teen!ford who is so flustered and frustrated by stan's behavior that he pops angry boners and constantly has to excuse himself. stan is sad because he thinks ford is avoiding him out of hatred. little does stan know that as soon as ford is out of stan's sight he's fisting his cock to the thought of bending stan over and showing that old man just how much of a grown up he is.

Literally going insane over this ask, thank you so much Anon. It’s a lot, so I’m putting it under the cut!

Teen!Ford with Old man Stan is one of my favorite tropes, especially when Stan is the bottom, (is that even a surprise at this point?) because teen Ford would be going feral around Stan. Whether it’s where Ford has been de-aged, a time travel incident, or it’s simply a world where Stan and Ford weren’t twins, Ford would be so fucking thirsty over Stan.

We’re going with the Grunkle Stan/Grand-Nephew scenario >:)) maybe I’ll expand on the others one day!!

So! Old man Stan is estranged from his family for many different reasons, but mainly because he’s a criminal and was disowned by his Father when he was a teen. But he was able to stay in contact with Shermie and his son, who eventually reached out to him about housing Ford for the summer. Apparently it was his last summer before he went off to college and his parents wanted the kid to have a good send off before he left.

Stan is fucking ecstatic, though a bit wary. He wasn’t the best influence, he knew that, and he hadn’t seen Ford since he was a itty-bitty baby. So he was a bit nervous about seeing the kid again.

Ford on the other hand was not looking forward to spending the summer in a hick town with his crook of a Great-Uncle. That was until he saw him.

The man was exactly his type. Broad and large, with greying hair and a crooked, yellow grin, and holy shit Ford was hard as hell. He almost fainted when he got home and found out what Stan’s home attire was, with his stomach hanging out for Ford to ogle. The man wore a girdle, hiding the absolute masterpiece of a body underneath it. It was blasphemous, and Ford needed to find that girdle and burn it immediately.

That night he masturbated to Stan, fucking into his fist and imagining it was the man’s mouth. He wanted to feel the man’s chapped lips around his cock. He wanted to grab his short grey hair and force him to take him whole, to choke on his dick. He wanted to look into those dough eyes and see them tearing up as he struggled to breathe.

The next morning Ford acted like he didn’t just cum the hardest he’s ever had in his entire life, and asked Stan to take him on a tour around town.

After that, he spent every moment of everyday trying to get close to his Grunkle, and slowly his lust transformed into love.

Stan is having the time of his life. He never realized how lonely he was until Ford came into his life. Now he had a little shadow that followed him everywhere. He started to see Ford as his own kid, and he has never been happier.

Of course he didn’t notice the way Ford looked at him. How whenever they hugged Ford’s hands rested just a bit too low on his back. How when Ford insisted they cuddled on the couch when they watched T.V. together he would bury his head in Stan’s chest, practically suffocating himself in his tits.

He didn’t notice how his clothes would go missing, only to appear a few days later like nothing happened. He didn’t notice when Ford would glare at anyone who dared to flirt with him. And he never knew that Ford had found that old porn magazine he had posed for in his storage room and practically worshiped the damn thing.

Ford has been trying to show Stan how mature he was the whole summer. He laid down his entire life plan (which involved going to West Cost Tech, getting 12 PHDS, becoming the lead researcher in CryptoZoology, getting married, and then spending the rest of his life researching anomalies) and Stan had only laughed and asked who he was planning on marrying. Ford couldn’t just blurt out that he was the one he was going to marry, and then had to suffer through Stan telling him how anybody would be lucky enough to marry him and how he’d meet the one someday, not knowing that Ford had already found them.

Ford was just happy Stan was still single. He had no idea how the man hadn’t been snatched up yet, he was literally sex on legs, but Ford was forever grateful.

After many, many more attempts to make Stan see him as something more than a little kid, he decides to take a more… unconventional method.

He started to try to seduce Stan. He’d walk around with no shirt, wear his green shorts he knew were way to short and hugged his dick and ass just right, he’d walk around in only a towel after showering claiming he forgot to bring his clothes to the bathroom with him, and he made sure to grunt and moan loudly every night when he was masturbating to that stupidly hot magazine he found of Stan.

Stan is literally going insane. Ford had been acting differently. He’s been walking around the house practically naked, he’s jerking off crazy loud at night, and he swears between the grunts and moans he’s hearing whispers of his name. This shouldn’t be turning him on so much, he shouldn’t be getting hard at the thought of Ford masturbating to him, so he starts to pull away from Ford. Maybe if he just avoided it, it would just all go away.

This, obviously, does not please Ford, and he decides that he was done playing games.

The next night, Ford corners Stan and confesses to him. He tells him about how he loved him, how he wanted to stay in Gravity Falls with him after he goes to West Coast, and how they were meant to be together.

Stan is trying to tell Ford that he’s just a kid, and that he was confused, but Ford isn’t having it.

He pins Stan down and starts to rut against him, wanting to show him that he wasn’t confused at all, and that he wanted him.

Stan has the strength to pull away, but he doesn’t. Whether it was because he wanted this or he didn’t want to hurt Ford, he was unsure. So he allowed Ford to press his dick against his hip and to pant and moan in his ear, talking about how good Stan felt, about how he’s wanted to do this since they met, how he couldn’t wait to fuck Stan.

Stan of course tries to pull away after that, knowing he’s let things get out of control, and as the adult he shouldn’t be encouraging this, but the way that Ford whined when he tried to move away made him freeze.

Ford trails his hands over Stan’s wife beater, pulling the tank-top under Stan’s armpits to suck eagerly at his chest, biting and pulling at his nipples in unpracticed, rough motions.

Stan would just moan and throw his head back, wrapping one hand around the back of Ford’s neck, just resting it there. He couldn’t encourage this, he repeated to himself, but the way Ford eagerly ran his hand over his body drove him insane.

Ford pulls back, eyes wide and pupils blown with lust as he stares at Stan’s now puffy, abused nipples. Gorgeous, his Grunkle was gorgeous.

“Not a little kid now, am I Grunkle Stan?” He’d say, sitting on Stan’s chest, tapping the man’s stubbled chin with the tip of his cock.

“I’ve been waiting for this since we met. Please Grunkle Stan, for me?” The way Ford’s lips curled around the words made Stan feel light headed, and he allows Ford to slowly inch his dick into his mouth, easily accepting the intrusion.

“Ah, I knew you’d be a good cock sucker Grunkle.” Ford whispers, slowly pumping his hips back and forth, gently fucking Stan’s mouth. Then, he’d grab Stans hair like he’s dreamed of doing and starts to jackhammer his hips, forcing his cock deeper and deeper into Stan’s throat. The old man’s gag reflex is non-existent, and he quickly deep throats the boys cock. Stan is gurgling and moaning under Ford as he fucked his mouth ruthlessly, and Ford’s thrusts grew more and more sloppy before he came, not allowing Stan to pull away, pumping his seed down the old man’s throat.

Collapsing on top of the man, Ford pants, exhausted. Stan is still recovering underneath him, mind racing, and he knows that the rest of the summer just got a lot more complicated.

[alphaleathergearhead]

Time to serve, skin boy

Marc put on his dark red bomber jacket, the red camo combat pants and his dark red ranger boots. He felt good and horny, ready to go out and look for an adventure on this Friday evening.

After a short stroll through the nearby street he entered his favourite bar on the corner to have some beer for a start. The bar wasn´t crowded yet. Marc went to the counter, ordered his beer and settled down. He grinned at the barman who placed the beer in front of him.  „Nice outfit“, he said to the hunk behind the counter, eying him up and down. The barman was wearing tall boots, leather chaps over an asstight jeans and a tight leather vest on nude skin. „Thanks bro, enjoy your beer“ said the barman and to Marcs disappointment he went away to the other end of the corner, where an older leather bloke was sitting. Most annoying, the two of them chatted animatedly and then the leather guy was kissing the barman.

„Ok“, thought Marc, „tried and failed“. He let his eyes wander through the bar but there was no familiar face to be seen. Marc returned to his beer, sipping on it and thinking what to do next.

„May I?“, said a deep voice suddenly besides Marc. Marc flinched slighty, taken by surprise, and turned to where the voice came from. It was a tall and well-built man, older than Marc, geared up in a black leather tracksuit, black sneakers, leather cap, leather gloves and a woodland camo bomber jacket. Marcs heart skipped….fuck, this was a good looking guy in hot gear.

The man smiled at Marc, took his place besides him and ordered a beer. The barman eyed him up and hurried to fulfill the wish. „I know him well……the barman“ added the man as he saw the irritation in Marcs face. „He fulfills every wish I have. Oh sorry, I´m Dean“.

„Hi Dean, I´m Marc.“

„Great to meet you, Marc. You´re geared up nicely, all to my taste, I would say.“

„Oh thanks, great, I mean…“ Marc stuttered slightly. „I mean, you´re looking great, too.“

„Is this so?“ Dean looked intensely at Marc wo felt himself x-rayed. He then smiled and took a huge sip of his beer. „Cheers Marc.“

„Cheers, Dean“. Marc relaxed after that intense stare and emptied his beer in one.

„Hey, there, another beer for Marc over here“, Dean ordered with a steely commanding voice. To Marcs astonishment the barman reacted at once, leaving his leather daddy alone.

„Now tell me Marc, what brings you here?“

Marc thought that this was a rather stupid question as the bar was wellknown for hooking up hot guys for a night. „I….well….yes….“ Damn, what an embarrasing show he was giving in front of this attractive guy. Marc fell silent and looked dumb on his beer.

There was a long, silent break. Then Dean smiled at him, emptied his beer and stood up. Fuck, if he goes now….thought Marc.

„Well Marc, I was looking for a hot skin for some hot action tonight. I thought, you might be the one. But I may have been mistaken. I leave now. My car is outside. I will wait, lets say, 2 minutes. If you make up your mind, come outside and our adventure will start. If not, then have a nice evening.“

Dean put some money on the counter. „Thats for both of us“, he said, turned around and left.

Marc sat like paralysed on his stool. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought. Then he jumped off the stool and left the bar on a run.

The door slammed close behind him. The street in front of him was empty. Fuck, he´s gone, you are such a fool, thought Marc angrily.

Then he felt a move behind him and a leather glove closed his mouth and nose. „Shhhhh, come with me and no resistance“ whispered Dean in his right ear. Marc was so surprised that he went nearly limp.

Dean steered him around the corner in a dark part of the street. He hold him there strongly against a wall and Marc felt suddenly cold steel against his wrists and heard a clicking sound. Before he could shout, he felt something closing his mouth and wrapping around his head. Shit, you fool, you are trapped, he thought and tried to rip off the thing that was closing his mouth only to feel that his hands were cuffed on his back. Then he lost sight as a black mask was put over his head. He felt Deans hands steering him away from the wall. He heared another clicking sound and then he was thrown into a tight space and a heavy lid was shut firmly above him. A car engine started and Marc knew that Dean had kidnapped him and put him into the trunk of a car.

How long the car ride took Marc didn´t know, He felt endless turns and curves and at a certain point the road seemed to get bumpy, too. Then at last the car slowed down and stopped. He heard Dean open the lid of the trunk and felt his hands on his body.

„Up, come out“ commanded Dean in a voice that tolerated no contradiction. He was dragged out of the trunk and fell onto the gound.

„Shit, get up at once“, shouted Dean angrily and strong hands hoisted him upright. Marcs legs felt weak and he stumbled around, bound and blindfold. Again strong hands steered him in a certain direction and he heard ruttling keys and a door unlocked.

„Watch out, there´s a step“. Helpless Marc nearly stumbled over it. „Stand still“, commanded Deans voice. Another door was opened and a damp and mouldy air reached Marcs nostrils.

„Pay attention to the stairs.“ Led by Deans firm hands Marc stumbled down a staircase, was then led along an even part of that building and then stopped. He heard a heavy door creaking open and was led into a room with better air, which was comfortably warm and dry. He then heard another metallic creaking and received a heavy push, which forced him to stumble forward. Again the creaking noice and then the mask was removed.

Marcs heart sank. He found himself trapped in a massive steel cage in the corner of a dungeon like cellar room. In the cage was a bare matress and a blanket. The cellar room had many devices whose purpose Marc did not know.

Dean stood in front of the cage, smiling broadly. „Thanks for accompaning me to my place. I will leave you for a while so you get used to the new situation. Then I will come back and our adventure will begin. Oh, and don´t try to scream or something like this. Nobody will hear you.“

Dean left the cellar room and Marc heard the door closed with heavy locks.

[morgluvsconnie]

BOUND, c.springer

chap.3 | language, kinda short (will make it up!!!) | chap.2

“when yo birthday again?”

“two days.” you sipped your margarita while looking up at connie. both of you were drunk, high, and out of it. you were at the bar spot once again, leaning against the counter. he did the same, looking down at you.

“you want sum?” he tilted his head.

“not from you.” you looked at connie through your lashes, smiling a little. he had a straight face for a few seconds, but started to smile. “don’t say ian ask you, ight?” he raised his brows.

before you could reply, a random guy came up to you.

“wassup.” he looked you up and down. connie frowned a little, backing up. “i guess ian here then.” he said under his breath, looking to the side and drinking from his cup.

“you fine, i saw you from over there.” the guy pointed backwards. you glanced back and looked at him. you had no damn idea where he was pointing.

“okay.” was all u said, taking a sip from your bottle.

“just tryna make sure you ain’t got no boyfriend. you pretty as hell.” the guy smiled. you smiled back and laughed. “thank you, but i got a boyfriend.” you tilted your head. connie looked at you with a confused face.

“ion see ‘em.” the guy looked around then at connie.

he looked back at you. “this him?” he frowned.

you looked at connie and connie looked at the guy. “if you ain’t cut off our conversation you woulda knew that.” he mumbled, looking him in the eye. the guy stared at connie for a second before squinting and looking at you. “ion believe it.”

“fuck you want us to do, kiss?” connie frowned again.

“he is my boyfriend. better luck next time.” you pat the guy on his chest, softly pushing him away. “you, you gotta work on your temper.” you pointed at connie.

“my temper? youn recall when you came to get that tattoo? and you welcome for helping you. shit.” connie shook his head and blew through his mouth. “crazy.”

“well ion remember. so.” you shrugged, taking one more sip from your margarita and turning around to go. “hol up, where you goin?”

“home.”

“you high. and drunk.” connie squinted.

“no i’m not.” you crossed your arms.

“look at yo eyes.” connie stared at you. you pursed your lips together. “i can’t cus i don’t have a mirror.”

connie scoffed. “you tryna get off, ight. go home if you want to.” he shrugged. “i will if you gimme my keys.” you held your hand out. connie looked down at his pocket and took the keys out. “these my damn keys.”

you looked at them. “oh.” you mumbled, reaching in your purse to get your keys. you laughed lightly at yourself and hummed. “okay, ima see you later.”

“you not driving home like that.” connie rested his eyes at you and grabbed your keys, walking off. “boy what the hell?” you frowned, quickly following behind him. “gimme my keys” you pushed him. “no.” he walked to the rest of the group. “aye sash. take y/n car home and catch mikasa back.” he tossed sasha your keys.

you frowned up at connie then looked over to sasha, furrowing your eyebrows. sasha shrugged her shoulders with a smile, making you roll your eyes and groan, and being forced to follow connie outside the club.

“you high too! you can’t drive me home.” you stopped at the door and leaned on the brick wall. “i can function when i’m high. ian even smoke as much as you. so come on.” connie kept walking.

you stayed in the same spot, making connie turn around and narrow his eyes before looking up at the sky and closing his eyes.

“every time you get drunk.” he mumbled.

“it’s not every time. i’m not drunk i’m just tipsy. i’m talking perfectly fine.” you looked the other way.

to you, you were talking perfectly fine. but to connie, it sounded stupid. real stupid.

“okay, you not drunk, you tipsy. now bring yo ass y/n.”

“noooo” you whined, turning away as connie walked over to you.

that’s when you felt yourself being lifted off the ground, and tossed over connie’s shoulder. “you so fuckin stubborn.” he mumbled, walking to his car.

as much as you felt like arguing, you just let it happen.

an attitude was planted on your face as connie drove you home. he’d glance at you every few seconds, making sure you were good. “stop lookin at me.” you mumbled, staring out the window. you picked up your phone to check the time.

“it don’t matter how many times you pick up that phone, it’s still gon be dead.” connie smiled, just to mess with you. you squinted and slowly turned towards him.

“shut the hell… up.” you blinked quickly before turning the other way.

of course he didn’t care about you being rude. you were drunk. he knew, obviously, how you acted when you were drunk. but he still had to let you know,

“ion know who the hell you talkin to like that.” he raised his eyebrows, eyes still rested on the road.

“you.” you rolled your neck and him before rolling your eyes.

connie leaned back, slowly nodding with a small smile. it was funny when you were mad. apparently.

“right here.” you pointed to the house nearby.

as he pulled in the driveway, he put the car in park and put his hands behind the seat. “get out.”

you look at him.

“i’m just playin, damnnn. big head.” he laughed, unlocking the car. as you got out, you closed the door behind you, walking around the car and looked back at connie, throwing up a middle finger.

connie smacked his lips and let the window down. “damn, no thank you?”

you walked to your door and got your house key out, which was with your mailbox key, and your moms house key. fumbling to find which one out of the three it was, you dropped them, getting frustrated.

you snatched them off the ground, stumbling back over to the car and passing connie the keys. “i can’t see which one says H.” you mumbled, waiting for connie.

he glanced at you and chuckled a little, giving you the right key. “don’t drink again.”

you waved him off and walked back over to your door, looking back at him. “thank you.” you said, unlocking you door.

“you good.” connie said back, letting the window back up.

chap.4